Taking Flight
by paien
Summary: Snape had always worried about the state of his soul. Lily offers him a means of sheltering it from further damage, providing a path for him to aid Harry Potter and his friends in a way that others have not attempted. Meanwhile, Hermione realizes that Snape and Harry are willing to push aside past differences in their resolute quest to end the war.
1. I The Proposal

**A/N:** _Hello! This is my first story so I hope you enjoy it! It takes place during 7th year and I have tweaked a few details, but nothing too major (HBP didn't happen, all that jazz). If anything is unclear, feel free to ask about it. I also haven't read the books in a while, so discrepancies are entirely possible. Feedback is appreciated!_

 _-edit x2- The change from iPhone to Gameboy has been made! Thank you so much for your help. The next chapter should be coming soon!_

Darkness shrouded the Muggle neighbourhood. Tumultuous black clouds passed overhead like an angry overseer, although Snape was unsure whether this was meant as a bad omen for him or for the Muggles—he was never particularly proficient at Divination.

Of course, after The Prophecy, he tended to avoid anything to do with the subject.

His heart gave one painful palpitation and he rubbed at his chest with a slight grimace. _Best not to lose focus here_ , he thought as he glanced to his left, where a figure in sleek black robes and a silver mask crouched next to him in a backyard.

His companion spoke up, "What, exactly, is the point of this contraption?"

"It's just a swimming pool, Lucius. Surely you've heard of such a thing?" Snape replied, his sneer hidden behind his mask.

"Fuck off, Severus, I know what the ruddy thing is. What I don't understand is why it is so garishly colored, made of this bizarre squishy material, and has been left out in the open." Malfoy eyed the inflatable pool contemptuously. He shifted his legs and Snape winced at the crackling of joints. "I'm getting too damn old for this."

Snape silently agreed but didn't answer. What was the point of it all? Being sent out on these ridiculous Muggle raids to attack innocent people was _not_ what he wanted to do after a long day of teaching class and grading papers. As if Hogwarts wasn't already infested with soul-sucking fiends, he now had to finish the day off by tearing a piece of whatever of his soul was left.

"Once this whole bloody war is over, you and I are taking a nice long vacation, my friend."

"Shh," Snape hissed as two faint _pops_ echoed in the distance. He idly fingered the coin hidden in his pocket to alert the Order—Granger's idea, which Dumbledore unsurprisingly crowed over—and prayed that they would arrive quickly.

"It's Mulciber and Avery. I thought Bellatrix was meant to be involved?" Malfoy questioned.

"It seems your esteemed sister-in-law is a no-show, my dear," Snape replied. "If that causes a problem tonight…"

"She would never skive off on something like this. Merlin, Mulciber is as thick as they come. As much as I try to avoid her, at least Bella possesses some inkling of intelligence. Who thought it was a good idea to let him come along?"

"He will undoubtedly fuck this up and land us all in Azkaban."

Lucius shuddered at the thought of returning and opened his mouth, primed with another insult.

A flash of green light from inside the house cut short their conversation, and the two robed figures stood up to enter the house from the back. Snape fell in behind Malfoy Sr. as the blond Death Eater unlocked the back door and set up wards around the area. Fingering the coin once again, he surveyed his surroundings with an odd sense of foreboding as he felt the coin heat up from his message:

 _No Lstrng? Mlcbr instd._

Snape removed his hand from his pocket and drew his wand. He followed Lucius inside as they headed toward the sound of tortured screaming and begging.

Upon entering the living room, Mulciber ended the third round of Cruciatus on the Muggle woman. The man was already dead, and as Snape cast a cold, unfeeling gaze around the room, it was clear why—trails of organs and intestines paraded the floor and walls.

"Charming, Mulciber," Snape drawled. He flicked his wand, collecting the entrails in a neat pile between the two Muggles and leaving behind a show of stained bloody mockery.

"Really, must you make such a mess?" Malfoy tutted, his usual expression of disdain evident even with the mask on. "It's _so_ Muggle."

"Where is Avery?" Snape cut in as Mulciber seemed to take offense.

"Upstairs," the man grunted as he poked at the woman and checked for signs of life.

Snape's eyes glinted sharply. "Is that so? What could possibly be so enthralling that he did not even wait to greet the Dark Lord's most trusted followers?" _What could he be doing? It's just a Muggle house and the residents are all down here_ —

"Perhaps I shall check on Avery; the poor sod probably got lost. Mulciber, do hurry along and finish the entertainment off—if you haven't already." Snape took off his mask and raised an eyebrow at Malfoy, who was standing stiffly in the middle of the room as if he would be contaminated. "Lucius, feel free to add a more _regal_ touch to the decor. Just don't play too long—we've other houses to visit."

Snape left the room and stalked darkly upstairs. Where were the Order? Surely it couldn't take that long to disassemble Lucius' wards. He followed the sound of Avery's voice as it carried from one of the bedroom's upstairs.

"You know, Mulciber likes to get his hands dirty when he plays. Must be the half-blood in him." A pause, and Snape was sure that Avery was sneering at Mulciber's technique. "But if you listen to me, I know curses that could boil you from the inside-out. Wouldn't you like that, pumpkin? It's clean and efficient - well, maybe not efficient, but it'll kill you in the end."

Snape approached the half-closed door with a growing sense of trepidation. "Avery, you sick fuck," he muttered in disgust and toyed with the DA coin again.

 _2 dead, 1 upstairs?_

Taking a deep breath, he pushed the door open. "Evening, Avery," he greeted politely and, he hoped, calmly.

"Snape? How are ya, you old dog? Been a while since you've had some fun with us." Avery turned from the crib to grin madly at him, and Snape was reminded unpleasantly of Barty Crouch Jr.

"Indeed. Mulciber is still as messy as ever, I see. What are you doing?" Stay calm. Voice level. Don't panic. The child seemed unharmed for now. He tried to ignore the muffled cries from behind the toy car jammed in the infant's mouth.

"I found this here young'un and thought I'd have some fun since Mulciber's hogging the Muggles downstairs. I was just gonna teach him some more elegant curses. Any suggestions?"

Snape made a show of rolling his eyes and leaning against the doorframe in exasperation. "I suggest you hurry up so that we can move on to another house. It's hardly much of a raid if we spend all our time on one family. In fact, why don't I handle this for you? You run along and collect Mulciber."

"No way, Snape. Just 'cause you've been away from the job for a while don't mean you can take this one off me. I found him, so I get to take care of him. I think a blood-boiling curse would do nicely, don't you?"

As soon as Avery had finished talking, shouts erupted from the floor below; the Order had _finally_ arrived. Snape jumped upright and feigned surprise. "What the bloody hell is that? Let's go, Avery. I told you not to waste time."

"Alright, alright," the other Death Eater grumbled. Before Snape could stop him, he cast a beam of red light at the gagged child. Avery fled downstairs.

Snape cursed as he watched the child's eyes start to widen as skin began to bubble from underneath. He swore again when he heard the distinct cackling of Bellatrix Lestrange floating upstairs.

Large blue eyes stared up at him, then squeezed shut in pain. Snape swore a third time because he knew that there was no hope for the child - he might have been able to stop the curse in an adult, but it spread too quickly through the baby's small body.

"Forgive me," he whispered as he aimed his wand and cast the Killing Curse. He allowed himself to hunch over the crib before straightening almost immediately and casting _Morsmordre_ out the window. He turned on his heel and strode towards the door.

He was stopped in his tracks by Tonks, who stood a few feet down the hall with her wand pointed at his chest.

"What's going on?" he asked, instinctively raising his wand as well. Something was wrong. Her mouth was gaping stupidly and her eyes were glazed over. "Imperius," he breathed.

Both jabbed their wands at the same time. Tonks' stupefied body flew over the rails and landed on the main floor with a _thud._ Snape dove to the floor, only to feel Tonks' spell reverberate in his right leg. He rolled heavily and attempted to stand back up, only to feel the bone-shattering curse compress his leg. The bones cracked and splintered and he collapsed with a pained inhalation. He moaned as he tried desperately to recall the countercurse.

His vision began to black out even as he weakly tried to lift his wand arm. Blond hair suddenly filled his view, though it seemed to be fading into a vibrant red. When had Lucius gotten red highlights?

He faintly heard Lucius growl, "Severus?! Merlin's beard, I'm getting _too damn old_ for this." And then an arm slipped underneath his body and he felt bile rising into his mouth as the familiar squeeze of Apparition jolted his shattered leg.

* * *

When Snape came to, he found himself sitting in a rocking chair by a creek. He glanced down at his leg and realized that it was fully healed. Frowning, he stood up, whirling around in a circle as he recognized his surroundings. What was he doing in Spinner's End?

He automatically began walking towards his house, only to feel a pull urging him in the other direction; impulse dragged him in front of Lily's home. Almost feeling as though he was Imperiused, he turned the doorknob and stepped inside. A shudder overcame him at the familiar sight of the Evans' entryway and he clenched his hand in despair.

"It took you long enough, Sev," a voice rang sweetly from the kitchen.

Snape's chest tightened and he groaned. Motherfuck, he was dead. He'd failed Albus and Potter and even that damned Muggle baby. Granger would feel terrible because her coin trick didn't help. Lucius would have no friend to drink with. Bugger it all, felled by a clumsy Imperiused auror.

"Stop being ridiculous and come inside," Lily called again.

Snape visibly startled and was glad there was no one around to witness it. How did she know?

"Sev," she said warningly, but with the same gentle tone, "don't make me come out there."

Forcing himself to move, he warily entered the bright kitchen, wand hand tensed. Almost disbelievingly, he gaped at the thin figure before him. She was as lovely as ever—brilliant red hair to match her vibrant presence. The sunlight glinted off her pale skin and gave her an ethereal glow, while the glare off her wedding ring seemed to burn right through him. Was this heaven or hell?

"Severus Snape," she snapped upon walking over to him. "You. Are. Not. Dead. I didn't realize you had grown to be so thick."

He raised an eyebrow mockingly at her choice of words. In reply, Lily fiercely gripped his head in her hands; the damned ring dug painfully into his cheekbone.

"It was a serious injury and you passed out—it was certainly a very, very close call. I'd advise you to be more careful next time, love. As close to dead as you were, you'd think it would have been easier to meet you in your mind. Of course, you never could make things easy, could you?"

He closed his eyes and tried to ignore her presence. It was wrong—everything felt wrong. And she was too close to him; he could feel her breath caressing his face.

With a sigh, Lily released his head and tugged him over to the living room, where she pushed him gently onto the couch. She sat down beside him, a pensive expression on her face.

"So am I in the process of dying?" Severus asked finally.

"No, Severus. I was actually walking around in the afterlife with James when a giant portal appeared out of nowhere. It was the kind of thing that you'd have laughed at, I'm sure. But I knew what I had to do—I _saw_ you dying. Lucius is a good friend—he saved your body. I'm here to save your soul." She turned her green eyes on him. "It's fate, I'm certain."

At this, Snape scoffed. "Now I know I'm in hell. Lily, my soul has already been fragmented. Or did you miss the part where I murdered a child?" Strangely enough, he did not feel the usual pang of anger towards James Potter when he heard his name.

Lily snorted. "Self-loathing doesn't become you. I much preferred my task-oriented, confident, brilliant Sev. You'll always be an arse, but I think you'll feel much better now without the guilt. I can tell it's working—you didn't react at all to James' name."

"What have you done? What witchcraft is this?" Because it was true—not even her adoring words affected him as much as he had thought they would whenever he fantasized,

"It's _divine intervention_ ," she teased happily.

"Now you're being ridiculous. You know I don't believe in that tripe, and neither do you."

"Of course not, but magic works in mysterious ways. I know it's against your nature to not understand things that happen, but trust me on this—just go with it. When you've lived in the afterlife for so long, you begin to simply accept whatever happens."

"What's it like?" he whispered.

"At first, you feel powerless because you know there's nothing you can do for those you left behind. You have _no_ idea, Sev, how much I wanted to help you all those years." At this, Lily averted her tear-brightened eyes. "It's truly in the past, though, and I want you to focus on the future instead. You've done so much for my boy, and I know you'll continue to do so."

Snape grimaced at her as she turned to look earnestly into his eyes.

"I've only got so much time with you right now, though. Even magic can only do so much. Just hear me out, okay? I know you think your soul is beyond hope, but I can see it and there is absolutely nothing wrong with it. No one's soul comes to the afterlife perfect. This is going to be the most bizarre analogy you'll ever hear, so you better promise not to laugh. You know those Gameboys that Muggles use nowadays?"

Snape stared at her. "If this is what happens to people in heaven, I think I'd prefer hell."

Lily laughed and hit him on the arm. "Shut up and listen—this is serious."

"Could've fooled me," he grumbled and rubbed his arm jokingly. "Yes, I am vaguely familiar with the stupid things."

"Good. Now, just imagine that your soul is a Gameboy—shut _up_ —and that it's been dropped. Not enough to completely break it, but the glass is cracked and it's scratched and it's not perfect-looking anymore."

He stifled his laughter, nodding instead.

"I can be the protective case for that Gameboy. It's not too late for it, but it must be done soon."

Snape was eyeing her suspiciously now. "And what are the conditions for this case?"

"You have to protect Harry and his two friends," Lily said softly. "I know you've essentially been doing that anyway, but with this agreement you must _actively_ do so. I have no doubt that you would sacrifice your life for any of them, but what about the little things? Bullying, family matters, whatever—just imagine if someone had been there for you, how different your life would have been. The big issues might've seemed just slightly less daunting if the little problems weren't so prominent. Think about it, Sev. And remember, you can't protect someone if you don't know what's going on in their life."


	2. II Intro to Healing

**A/N:** _Thank you everyone for reviewing/favoriting/following (RFF?). It's awesome that people are reading this and I hope you'll enjoy this next chapter as well! Also, thank you to the kind reviewer for suggesting some more relevant technology! I've gone back and changed that now._

Hermione entered the Great Hall, bag slung over her shoulder, and took her customary seat beside Harry and Ron. "Good morning," she chirped brightly at them.

Ron feigned a groan and covered his face while Harry faked a wince.

She rolled her eyes at their antics. "Anything in the papers?"

The boys immediately straightened and their demeanours turned serious, casting covert glances around the Hall. Harry slid a copy of the Daily Prophet over to Hermione, his eyes downcast. "There was a raid just outside of Muggle London, but only one family was killed. No other houses were attacked; the Order must've stopped them."

She didn't have to ask who _them_ was. "No other casualties?" she asked meaningfully.

"I've not heard anything," Ron answered.

Harry shook his head as well. "Neither have I. Not that it means much - no one tells us anything."

Hermione sighed. It was true—Dumbledore and the Order weren't terribly forthcoming with information. They usually had to scrounge up whatever news they could find from the papers. Occasionally, Fred and George sent updates by owl, but even that source had dwindled lately. She wasn't sure if that was a good or bad thing.

"Well, maybe we can send a letter to the twins later tonight. Harry, have you heard anything from Padfoot?" she inquired.

"Nothing," he replied in frustration.

Hermione smiled sympathetically. She knew Harry was growing more impatient each day. "It's getting late. We'd better get to Defense before Professor Snape takes points off."

"It's been a year now since he's been the Defense teacher—d'you reckon the curse is still active? I didn't see him at breakfast today," Ron mused.

"Ron, don't say things like that," Hermione scolded, though there was no real malice in his voice. Their problems had escalated much larger than one strict, unreasonable teacher. "At any rate, he was at the welcoming feast, so the curse must be gone. Right, Harry?" She glanced past Ron and frowned when she came upon Harry's empty seat.

"That wanker left without us!" Ron exclaimed. "Quick, we're gonna be late!"

Hermione laughed as Ron levitated their bags and stood hunched over, back toward her.

"Hop on!" he cried. "I'll get us there in time."

She giggled again and instead secured their bags on his back with a quick charm, patting his back affectionately as they jogged off.

* * *

Hermione entered the classroom as quietly as she could. Unfortunately, her stealthy entrance was ruined by Ron following in after her, face red and breathing heavily. She looked over at Snape's desk in terror, only to find that it was Professor Dumbledore seated in the chair.

"Oh, er, sorry, Professor," she said. "We were running late."

"Not to worry, my dear. Please, have a seat. As I was saying, Professor Snape is off doing some Potions research in Eastern Europe. I hope you'll forgive me my rustiness—I've not taught a class in quite a while. As such, we'll be starting off rather slow today; everyone turn to page…"

Hermione frowned as Dumbledore moved onto more mundane topics. It seemed too much of a coincidence that Snape was suddenly unable to teach the day after a Death Eater raid. She sent a significant glance in Harry's direction, certain that he was also thinking along the same lines. He nodded back and mouthed, "Later."

The remainder of the class eased along at a stroll. Dumbledore had them dissecting the theory in the books, then promised the next class they would put it all into practice.

As she stood up to leave with the boys, the Headmaster raised an arresting hand and they froze in their spots. "If you three wouldn't mind, come to the Infirmary at seven o'clock. There are some things that I would like to discuss with you."

The trio nodded their acquiescence and hustled outside the classroom to the greenhouses.

"What was that all about?" Ron asked in bewilderment. "You don't think someone was hurt last night, do you?"

"What good would we be if someone was?" Hermione countered. "No, it must be something else, although the Hospital Wing is an odd place for a discussion."

* * *

After supper, Hermione led Harry and Ron to the Infirmary. Perhaps it had something to do with Professor Snape's absence? She heaved the heavy door open and spotted Dumbledore in a hushed conversation with Madame Pomfrey outside her office.

He beamed jovially as the trio approached. "Excellent! Now we can begin," he said, his speech punctuated with a clap of his hands.

"Begin what, Professor?" Harry asked, brow furrowed behind his glasses.

"We have decided that this year, and possibly later years if all goes well, there shall be another subject added to the curriculum: healing magic. As I'm sure you can imagine, the content could be useful in the foreseeable future," Dumbledore said wryly.

"That sounds brilliant!" Hermione exclaimed. _Much more useful than Divination, anyway_. "But how can we help?"

"Quite easily, actually," he assured, pulling out a scroll from his pocket. "Because this is a rather spur-of-the-moment decision, we have yet to finalize the outline for this course. With Professor Snape unavailable, I will be rather busy for the next few weeks, so I was hoping that you three would like to help Madame Pomfrey design the new Healing class—available to sixth and seventh years only. It is tricky magic, and if it is done incorrectly, can have horrible consequences."

"Of course," Hermione agreed, shuddering at the thought of a botched healing spell.

"Now, if the first month or two runs smoothly, we may offer elementary healing to fourth and fifth years. I'll leave you to it for now, however, as I have a meeting with Professor McGonagall that I must attend. If I were to be late, I fear for the state of my office; she tends to play tag with Fawkes when she is bored. Good luck to you all—I have the utmost faith." Dumbledore flourished the scroll in front of them and left it levitated in the air as he exited the Hospital Wing.

"Alright," Madame Pomfrey said briskly. "Let's get to work, shall we? Scooch over, Mr. Potter, Mr. Weasley; I'm going to bring that table over here." With a few flicks of her wand, a round table and chairs floated over and the parchment was lowered.

Hermione grinned to herself at the opportunity to learn such an exciting field of magic. And, even better, it should help the boys feel useful and reduce their agitation.

"We want to start off the syllabus fairly simple—no point in rushing in to healing a broken leg," Pomfrey began. "I know your knowledge of healing spells may be fairly limited, so why don't you come up with situations where these spells would be used?"

"Well, when I was younger, Mum used to always use a spell to repair any scrapes and cuts I'd get when I fell down," Ron offered. "I never knew what it was called because she always did it nonverbally."

"Yes, certainly some of the minor healing spells can become almost second nature to you—especially for your mother with all those children running around. Very good, Mr. Weasley."

"But what if the cut was larger?" Hermione asked. "Surely it's not as easy as a simple spell to fix it."

"That's right." Pomfrey beamed. "I'm glad to see that you're all so enthusiastic about this. As the severity of the injury increases, magical healing can become very complicated very quickly. There are many things that must be considered: age, weight, height, the type of injury and where it is are just the beginning. I have borrowed some mannequins from St. Mungo's to use as examples in class."

"So you'll be teaching?" Harry asked.

"Myself and Professor Dumbledore will be, yes. Occasionally, your help may be required as someone will always have to be in the Hospital Wing. I believe the Headmaster actually planned it out so that Mr. Potter and Mr. Weasley might assist him in some classes while Miss Granger monitors the Infirmary."

Hermione muffled a chuckle with her hand at the baffled expressions on Harry and Ron's faces.

"You want _us_ to teach?" Ron squeaked.

"We've never done any of this before!" Harry nodded frantically in agreement with Ron.

"Well, we certainly won't be asking you to demonstrate an amputation," Pomfrey replied tartly. "I will give you lessons here in the Infirmary a few nights a week so that you are ahead of your classmates. I want to stress the importance of taking this very seriously and I think it will help if the other students see how helpful healing is. Consider it, please, and try to encourage others to enroll in this course."

Once the initial bewilderment had passed, Harry was now nodding thoughtfully. "It took me by surprise, but I'll give it a go."

"Good. I trust you have no issues with this, Miss Granger?"

"No, Madame Pomfrey," Hermione said. While the thought of manning the Hospital Wing was a little daunting, she was sure that the Matron would ensure that she was properly trained before unleashing her healing abilities on a poor student. "Actually, I had thought about pursuing a career in Healing."

Poppy smiled. "Consider this a crash course in healing, then."

* * *

After a couple of hours, the group had brainstormed until the paper was almost full. Hermione's mind was whirling with information. Who knew that healing entailed so many steps? There was so much to learn!

Madame Pomfrey cast a glance at the clock and jumped. "Goodness! It's nearly 10! If you'll excuse me, I have a potion I must attend to. Feel free to stay and brainstorm some more, but I must be off. If anything comes up and my assistance is required, ring the bell outside my office. Otherwise, you may leave the parchment on my desk when you're done."

As Pomfrey hustled off, Harry grabbed Ron's arm and tugged him back down to his chair. "Hold on, Ron, we need to talk. What was up with Snape's absence? It must have something to do with the raids last night."

Hermione scowled at Harry and shushed him. She quickly cast some privacy charms and rapped him on the head with her wand. "Really, Harry, we need to work on that."

He smiled sheepishly. "Sorry. But my point still stands."

"But if he _is_ a spy for the Order—which he must be," she interjected at the unconvinced looks on their faces, "—why would he have been harmed during the raids?"

"Okay, say Snape is a spy, maybe the Death Eaters found out?" Ron suggested, and Hermione could see the chess player in him taking over. "I don't think so, though. Dumbledore is always busier around raids, but he didn't seem any different."

"He was too calm," Harry agreed. "Maybe Snape actually is off doing Potions research, but for the Order."

Hermione rested her chin on her fist. "It's possible. We don't have enough information to go on, though, and even if we did know, there isn't much we could do about it. I think we're better off concentrating on this Healing class."

"It is pretty brilliant, isn't it? I feel a lot better knowing that Neville, Ginny and Luna and all our friends will be able to protect themselves better." A small burden had finally seemed to have lifted from Harry, and he leaned back tiredly in his chair.

"You two should go on to bed before curfew; I'm going to look over our list one more time," Hermione said as she picked up her quill once again.

"Bloody hell, mate, let's go before my legs cramp up—I don't think I can handle sitting down any longer," Ron spoke up, standing and stretching.

Harry grinned impishly. "I dunno, Ron, it seems irresponsible to leave the mad woman by herself."

"Get out of here," Hermione replied, pretending to throw her quill at them.

"You know, it's not fair that she doesn't have a curfew," Ron's voice trailed from the doorway as the two boys exited the room.

"The perks of being Head Girl!" she called after him.

* * *

An hour later, Hermione was ready to go to her room. She packed her quills and rolled up the parchment, rubbing wearily at her bleary eyes. The Hospital Wing really needed to invest in some brighter lights.

Suddenly, a shining horse strode into the room, it's hooves pounding silently through the air. Hermione grew alert as she recognized Ginny's Patronus open its mouth:

"A third year was out after curfew and fell down the stairs outside Gryffindor Tower. Madame Pomfrey is required."

Groaning, Hermione walked stiffly and placed the scroll on the Matron's desk. She rang the large hanging bell and tried to return feeling to her foot.

"What's wrong?" Madame Pomfrey asked as she appeared from a door in the back of her office.

Hermione relayed the message and Pomfrey scowled fiercely.

"Of all times—" she grumbled under her breath. A few choice words were thrown in, and Hermione had a feeling she wasn't meant to hear them. "Miss Granger, if you wouldn't mind staying here until I come back, I would appreciate it. It seems that you will be beginning your studies in healing sooner rather than later."

"Of course, Madame Pomfrey. What do you want me to do?"

The Healer towed her into the back room of her office, where a curtain wall obscured half the area. "I have a patient here in stable but serious condition. There is a charm set up to alert if he is awake or ailing. He cannot be left alone, but you do not have to stay in this room; the alarm will be heard throughout the Infirmary. As long as you are within hearing distance, it is fine."

Hermione tried not to gape. This was not what she had in mind as her first task in healing.

"A low ringing will be heard if he wakens; loud, shrill ringing means that something is going terribly wrong. In this case, you must inform myself or the Headmaster immediately—I would suggest you use the Floo in my office to reach the Headmaster's office," Pomfrey continued, oblivious to Hermione connecting the dots in her mind. "Do you understand?"

"Yes, ma'am," Hermione said, forcing herself not to stare at the outline behind the curtain.

"Good, I'll return soon. Oh, and, Miss Granger? The first rule for a Healer: always keep privacy and confidentiality."

Hermione swallowed and nodded. How badly was Professor Snape hurt?

As the Matron left in a hurry, Hermione seated herself gingerly at the desk in her office. She had a distinct feeling that she did not belong there and tried valiantly to ignore the soft breathing coming from behind her; she had closed the office door but had left the room to Snape's door open just in case.

The office walls were covered in posters and diagrams of all sorts of ailments, so Hermione occupied herself with reading them. Unfortunately, her mind kept wandering to the unmoving silhouette behind the curtain. She anxiously picked at her robes and prayed that nothing would happen. Judging by the steady, even breathing, he didn't appear to be waking up anytime soon. Hopefully she would not be needed for anything and Pomfrey would return to take care of her patient.

As the minutes passed on, Hermione felt slightly more at ease and began perusing the bookshelf across from her. It was actually quite peaceful once she settled herself.

The tranquility didn't last long, however, as a low ringing cut through the air as soon as she sat back down. She almost threw the book up in surprise as she startled to her feet and slammed the book down onto the desk as she rushed to the back room.

Hermione slowed as she entered the bleak, undecorated room and found her hands shaking while she pushed the curtain aside. She stumbled over to the hospital bed, eyes raking over the scene in front of her. Professor Snape was tucked in under a large white blanket, only his shoulders and head visible. His hair was surprisingly not greasy—Poppy must have cleaned it—and his skin seemed terribly pale, even for him. She valiantly ignored the fact that he seemed to be wearing only a hospital gown.

For a moment, Hermione worried that she had somehow managed to mix up the two different alerts. Snape was stone still and didn't appear to be waking in a hurry. She was heartened when his skin pinkened somewhat and he shifted slightly in the bed—no need to call Dumbledore.

Then, almost frighteningly fast, his eyes opened and flitted around the room. Finally, they rested on her and she forced herself not to flinch at his dark, ponderous gaze. Was he mentally making potions ingredients out of her limbs?

In a hoarse voice, he said, "So _this_ is what hell feels like," and promptly went back to sleep.

Stunned, Hermione stood paralyzed as the ringing died down, leaving a faint buzzing in her ears. Then she scowled indignantly and stomped back to her book.


	3. III Mutualism

**A/N:** _Thank you so much for the FFRs (follows, favorites, and reviews)! This one's a little longer to get the story moving._

A week had passed, and Snape was finally beginning to feel almost normal. Poppy had said that once his body had recovered from the shock, healing his leg was easy. He still had not been allowed out of his bed by himself, but the pain was now tolerable and he no longer required any painkilling potions. He grimaced as he recalled some of the stories Poppy had been regaling him with; it was hardly his fault that he'd been delirious from pain and sedatives.

He hauled himself into a sitting position, leaning against the head of his hospital bed. _If only Lucius could've decorated the room_ , he thought as he sniffed disdainfully at the off-white brick walls and curtain. He glanced at the letter Lucius had sent him via house elf and cast a wandless _Incendio_ to remove the evidence of their correspondence.

So Avery was dead—killed by the Dark Lord and taking the fall for Snape's passing of information to the Order. Avery was a fool for inviting Mulciber on the raid in the middle of the Ministry. A rush of glee spread through him; at least there was some justice in the world.

His joy immediately tampered down as he recalled how everything had gone awry. Bellatrix had shown up and surprised the Order members, allowing Mulciber to cast the Imperius curse—his favorite—on Tonks. 'Kill the Order,' Mulciber had commanded and Snape remembered how his heart rate had spiked upon reading those words in Lucius' letter. Had he been found out? He could have kissed the pompous prat when he read on and learned that Lucius had covered for him and informed the Dark Lord that he'd been hit by a stray curse. He'd have to find a good Christmas present for the Malfoys this year.

Then again, Lucius had taken the liberty of giving him a bath to wash his hair while he was unconscious, so perhaps he'd simply gift them a slightly better version of the wine he normally gave them.

For now, though, he needed to go to the bathroom and have a chat with Albus—preferably not at the same time. Merlin knew how the Headmaster was gifted with such terrible timing.

Snape grunted and dragged his legs to the side so that they hung off the edge of the bed. He no longer felt any pain, and Poppy had cast a numbing charm so that she could prod at his leg that morning. Apparently, she hadn't saw fit to remove it afterwards.

" _I don't feel any breakages or abnormalities anymore," she'd said happily._

" _That's wonderful," he'd replied testily. "It just so happens that_ I _can't_ feel _anything."_

But it was nearing lunchtime and he really had to piss. He had one good leg—surely that was all he needed. Using one arm to brace himself against the bed, he carefully put his weight on his left leg and nearly toppled over from the dead weight of his other leg. At least the swelling had gone down considerably. His leg was nearly the right size, but was still mottled with bruises.

He hopped and hobbled to the bathroom by his bed, rather thankful that the door to Poppy's office was closed. WIth a sigh of relief, he pulled his cock out of his briefs and hiked the goddamned gown up.

Snape was moving to make himself presentable again when the bathroom door opened—really, did no one knock anymore—and Tonks strode in as if she owned the bloody place. Damn Poppy for removing the lock so that he couldn't ignore her.

"Listen, Snape, I'm so sorry for what happened last week—" The auror's face was comical as she took in what she had walked in on.

"It's good to see you as well, Nymphadora. Don't mind me, I was just finishing up," he said sardonically. With deliberate care, he adjusted his briefs and pulled down the gown, smoothing the fabric and wiping off invisible dirt. He ambled over to the sink and washed his hands leisurely. At least she hadn't barged in on him with his underwear down.

To Tonks' credit, she didn't balk. He mentally gave her points as she continued on as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened. At least the aurors had been taught something right.

"If you're done being a prick," Tonks muttered under her breath as her hair turned fiery red like Lily's.

Snape tilted his head to the side, marveling at the fact that the reminder of Lily had no effect on him. Well, other than a sudden urge to check on Potter and his friends. How long did he have to adhere to this agreement with Lily? Did his actions count now or did he have a grace period first? The protection that she placed on his soul had better be reliable.

Tonks had stayed silent under his blank stare before finally cracking. "Okay, I know you don't like me and you don't want me here right now. I'm—"

"You walked in on me using the bathroom," he flung back at her, leaning towards her angrily with one hand on the counter. He was pleased at the sight of her taking a step back in surrender. While the situation was mildly embarrassing, he found that he felt much better by ignoring his discomfort and increasing hers.

"I know, I know, sorry, I thought it was your room because there was no one in the bed back there. IjustwantedtoapologizeforwhathappenedandIhopeyou'refeelingbetterbye."

Tonks' hair had turned a meek brown and she turned to flee, but Snape's voice halted her progress. Since she was here and making a nuisance of herself, he might as well engineer a way for her to be useful.

"Where do you think you're going?" he asked, making sure to inject some venom into his voice.

"Er, getting out of your hair and probably never looking you in the eye again for the next few weeks?"

He suppressed a snort. "Help me get back to my bed," he commanded. "You will update me on everything that has happened since. Any injuries?"

"Yes, sir," Tonks straightened as if she was performing an Auror training drill. She scurried over and offered her arm as balance against his lame leg. "Mad-Eye broke some ribs but he's fine now. Kingsley had some cuts cleaned up by Molly and Hestia lost a finger - it's been reattached now though. Kingsley managed to take down Mulciber after you Stupefied me—if only he'd done it a second earlier—but Bellatrix Apparated away with him."

Snape nodded, settling himself back onto his bed. "And yourself?"

"Me? It was nothing. Just a minor concussion."

"Fine. Do you know of how I ended up at Hogwarts?"

"Malfoy Sr. had a house elf Apparate you in front of the gates and owled a letter to Dumbledore, sir."

"Very well. You may go."

Tonks huffed a breath at his dismissive manner.

"Oh, Tonks?" Snape said casually to her back. She glanced over her shoulder questioningly. "Let's pretend this whole incident never happened, hmm?"

She gave him an enthusiastic salute. "Yes, sir!"

Snape rolled his eyes at her retreating figure and leaned back against his pillows with a groan. It was going to be a long day.

* * *

"I'll come by again tomorrow morning, shall I?" Albus informed him.

"Yes, Headmaster," Snape agreed. Albus had filled in the details of what Tonks had shared with him over dinner in his hospital room and was now standing up to leave.

"Would you care for a chocolate frog, Severus?" Dumbledore asked while he cracked off the leg of another one.

"No, thank you," he said.

Dumbledore cheerily placed one on his nightstand anyway. "I'll see you tomorrow, then!"

"Yes, yes, vacate the room please, Headmaster. I don't want my patient to tire himself out," Poppy said as she shooed Albus out the door. "Now, Severus, what are you up to tonight?"

Snape scowled. "Nothing, apparently, since I don't want to 'tire myself out'."

"Good! So you'll oversee a healing lesson I had planned tonight. There's been an outbreak of stomach flu in the Hufflepuff dormitories that I must attend to." Poppy beamed winningly at him.

"Excuse me?" Snape's scowl deepened. "These lessons are not my responsibility—in fact, I am a patient here and therefore should really rest in my bed for the evening."

"Oh, don't you try to play that card on me, Severus. I know you hate being on bed rest even more than teaching. Please? There are Hufflepuffs ruining the lavatories that I must attend to."

"Merlin, Poppy, alright. What must I do?" While it wasn't the ideal way to spend a night, at least it would be productive and grant him the opportunity to check on Potter, Granger, and Weasley.

"Well, I'm sure you can educate them on some of the more basic healing potions, couldn't you?"

"I suppose I could," he said noncommittally.

"Excellent, they should be here any minute. Thank you, Severus."

Poppy scrambled out of the Infirmary and Severus pulled himself out of his bed to limp to the main room. His leg was certainly on the mend, though he was unsure of how long it would be until he could teach again. At least Poppy had allowed him to change into his usual robes after his run-in with Tonks.

Snape raised an eyebrow to himself as he used the table outside of Poppy's office for support. He was sure that he'd heard his name…

"Ron! I'm fairly certain we would've heard if Professor Snape was dead." Granger's voice carried rather shrilly from the hall. Snape straightened and donned a scowl as if on cue when the heavy doors creaked open. "This speculation is ridiculous. I'm sure he's fine. Don't be surprised if we see him—"

Snape decided to finish her sentence for her, hiding his amusement as Potter and Weasley's faces screamed, _Abort!_

"Right now?" he offered smoothly.

Granger's face fell at the sight him; her head lowered nervously. "Well, I was going to say 'soon,' but I suppose now is as good a time as ever."

As much as he itched to milk the discomfort on the trio's faces, he mentally prepared himself to be civil—or as civil as possible. He needed to gain their trust, not push it away.

"Madame Pomfrey has been called away. As such, I will be taking over your lesson for tonight."

"Has something happened?" Potter asked, green eyes begging for information.

Although Snape was still tempted to sneer at the boy's headstrong personality, he didn't find the mixture of Lily's eyes in James Potter's face to be quite so nauseating. He was discomfited at the realization and he wondered just how much Lily's magic had affected him; he made a mental note to do some research on it when he was released from the Hospital Wing.

Curiously, he turned his gaze towards Granger. She was still bushy haired and unbearingly eager—nothing had changed there. And yet, he felt a small inkling of respect at how she was able to balance schoolwork with Potter and Weasley's antics and somehow manage to do well in every aspect. _She really is brilliant, isn't she?_ He narrowed his eyes at her anxious expression. _Still too bloody sensitive though._ _Probably could've been in Hufflepuff. House elf rights? Merlin save us all._

Finally settling his stare at Weasley, he was willing to acknowledge that the boy wasn't completely incompetent—none of the Weasleys were, really. In fact, Weasley's ability to strategize could be fairly helpful, if he could get the boy to focus entirely on the war.

How far did Lily's magic extend? Snape cast his thoughts back and pulled up an image of Sirius Black's face contorted in rage. He was reassured to discover that anger still coursed through him at the injustice of it all, and he smiled bitterly as he pictured the dog falling through the Veil. If only he'd been there to witness it.

Snape realized he'd been silent for too long when the students in front of him began looking at each other uncertainly. "There was an outbreak in the Hufflepuff dorm, but nothing serious," he informed them. "Let's all have a seat, shall we?"

Apparently he was being a little too civil because Potter and Weasley were exchanging startled looks while Granger inspected him like he was a dissected specimen.

He growled impatiently, "Today, if you would."'

The two boys gave themselves satisfied nods and sat. Granger now looked ready to poke him with a scalpel.

"How are you tonight, Professor?" she asked, her eyes boring into his as she tried to convey her message with a jerk of her head towards his room. Why did Poppy think it was a good idea to leave him in Granger's care? Snape repressed a shudder at the girl's attempt at subtlety. Was she having a stroke?

"I am quite well, Miss Granger," he grit out through his teeth. "And since you are so interested in my well-being, why don't we use this lesson as an opportunity to demonstrate appropriate healing methods on oneself."

"Sir?" she questioned.

"Fetch me some bruise removal paste from the office," he ordered as he heaved his bad leg onto an empty chair next to him.

"I didn't know Fred and George marketed their product to Hogwarts," Weasley mused as Granger scrambled to comply.

"They did not, technically. As a result, Madame Pomfrey does not bother healing minor bruises. Only under special circumstances will she have the twins send a supply over."

"Special circumstances?" Potter asked. "...Sir," he tacked on belatedly, as if hearing his title would make Snape more willing to impart information.

"You do not know why I have been absent from class?" Snape raised an eyebrow in surprise and eyed Granger suspiciously. So she hadn't said anything.

"Professor Dumbledore said you were doing research," the boy fished.

Snape weighed his options carefully; he could go with Dumbledore's story, or he could tell the truth. It had only been a raid, after all—there were no sensitive details that he could not share with them. He doubted that it would be enough to completely gain their trust, but he could almost taste the group's irritation at being left out and was sure that he could use that to his advantage.

"Come with me—this is not a discussion to have in the open," Snape said, making sure to distribute his weight evenly to minimize his limp as he made his way to his hospital room. "Bring your chairs," he added when they were already almost there.

Granger claimed Poppy's office chair as soon as she had found the paste. Scowling, the two boys turned back to grab their chairs.

Once everyone had settled, Snape was propped up on the bed with his leg elevated on the spare chair in the room that he had claimed. He took the bruise removal paste from Granger and opened it, coating his fingers with it as he lectured.

"First, when treating an injury, you generally want to have the injured party laid down in a resting position. That, of course, can be difficult if you are alone and wounded. Keep the afflicted limb at rest while you treat it initially, then elevate it to reduce swelling." Snape pulled his trouser leg up with a dramatic flourish. "For example, now that the curse has been stopped and the bones fixed, I can apply this paste to accelerate the healing process."

Three pairs of eyes goggled at his abused leg while he calmly smoothed the substance over any discolorations.

"Merlin save us all if you cannot stomach this," Snape continued, "because a few little bruises are immaterial compared to the initial injury."

"Oh, erm, I was just caught by surprise, is all," Potter soldiered on valiantly. "So what exactly _did_ happen, sir?"

"Patience, Mr. Potter," he replied. "The paste must be lathered on and rubbed into the skin. You _must_ treat the cause of the bruising—if it is still present—before you do any of this. Otherwise, the bruising will return and you will have wasted valuable time. Although it is tempting to treat the most visible injuries first, always take a _brief_ moment to assess and prioritize—you do not want your patient to die because you were dawdling. Is that clear?"

"What kind of injuries that are not always obvious should we look out for?" Granger asked, eyes wide as she committed to memory every thing he was saying.

"You must remember that there are curses and hexes that can act invisibly but still cause severe damage. Most of these spells will have subtle hints and symptoms to determine what they are. Think, however, of the Cruciatus curse. It leaves no visible damage; no wounds, no scars, no broken bones. This is an anomaly, though, since your best course of action is to incapacitate the caster. Other curses will continue to destroy even after the user is dead—the bone shattering curse, for instance." Snape gestured to his leg. "What sort of symptoms would you expect to find from someone who was hit by this spell?"

"Bone splinters puncturing the skin?" Granger suggested, brow furrowed. "I suppose if you felt the leg, it wouldn't be as solid as it should be."

"Both are correct," Snape confirmed. "There is a spell that allows the caster to see the outline of a patient's bones; have Madame Pomfrey teach it to you sometime. There will be intense swelling and bruising almost immediately. Shock is an issue—keep the person's core as warm as possible. What other complications could arise?"

All three remained silent, suddenly appearing to tense up as if afraid they would be called upon and mocked because they didn't know the answer. Snape almost wanted to smile nastily as if it was Potions class, but controlled himself.

"Splintered bones can cause further damage to ligaments or organs, depending on where the victim was hit. It is best if you do not attempt to move someone who has been hit in a delicate or vital area, such as the spine or ribs." _Apparating with someone is also not recommended._

"And this happened to you, Professor?" Potter spoke up again.

Snape rolled his eyes. "A point to Gryffindor for outstanding observational skills, Potter; two points from Gryffindor for your lack of patience and interrupting a lesson."

It was easy to see a sulk invading Potter's thoughts and body language. "Fine, if you won't tell me, I guess there's no point in me staying here."

"Don't put words in my mouth, Potter," Snape growled. "Act like an adult and maybe it'll justify you being treated like one."

He was gratified to see the boy actually stop and take the time to think, though Snape prayed that Potter wouldn't think too hard lest he hurt himself. It was painful watching him trying to decide the best way to respond.

After what seemed like an age, with Granger and Weasley holding their breath while watching their friend, Potter settled back into his seat. "Sorry, sir. Please forgive my behaviour," he said quietly.

Snape examined the boy's repentant posture. He certainly wasn't entirely sincere, but Snape was satisfied that at least the Boy Who Lived might finally be growing into the Boy Who Learned to Hold His Tongue.

"Very well," Snape said, "although there is not much to tell." He cast some privacy charms before beginning. "I was involved with raiding Muggle houses with a group of Death Eaters; I alerted Order members with your little DA galleon trick and they came to stop the festivities."

"Wow," Granger breathed. "I hadn't realized that Professor Dumbledore had integrated the galleons so quickly. I'm glad it worked well."

"Indeed. Unfortunately, the untimely arrival of Bellatrix Lestrange caused an issue and the Order was stretched a little thinner than we'd planned. No one was gravely hurt, though, and the Death Eaters were forced to retreat. What are you looking at, Miss Granger?"

The girl was once again eyeing him like an experiment—or worse, like a project. "No one was gravely hurt except you, sir," she said brazenly.

He lowered his leg to the ground and stood up, scowling darkly. "I believe that I am still alive and competent."

Granger opened her mouth to object, and Snape hastened to avoid whatever terrible idea she had concocted.

"Nevertheless, I believe that I have a trade-off that would be mutually beneficial for us all," he announced. "You want to be informed of Order ongoings?"

The boys watched him attentively, nodding in confirmation.

"I am willing to give you information if you will give me some as well. A bit of _quid pro quo_ , if you will; I tell you what is happening with the Order, and you tell me if anything noteworthy has happened among Hogwarts."

"Would our information be that beneficial to you?" Weasley asked doubtfully. "I don't see how you would get much out of this."

"I would like to be as informed as possible about the state of the student body," Snape said neutrally. "Any information is good information, don't you agree?"

Potter seemed to accept this reasoning—after all, he of all people should know how it felt to be lacking in intel.

"It sounds good to me. All our other sources have been running dry," Potter admitted. "What do you think, Hermione?"

Granger was tapping her chin thoughtfully. "It couldn't hurt, I suppose. So long as you don't decide to run off and do something stupid after you've heard some bad news."

Snape cringed inwardly at the thought. "I can assure you, if any of you try to pull something as idiotic as that, I will not hesitate to Obliviate you immediately. This information is not to be taken lightly. If you wish to strategize, you may come to me to discuss options."

"And how do we know we can trust you?" Potter demanded. "What if you give us false information?"

 _Like the Dark Lord did to you in fifth year?_ Snape countered, "I could ask the same of you. You need not decide right away—I will contact you in a few days, then you can give me your answer. You may leave."

He watched the three Gryffindors file out his room, levitating their chairs behind them and whispering fiercely to each other.

Snape hoped that Lily was watching this and approved of his actions.


	4. IV Changes

"What d'you make of that?" Ron whispered as the trio left the Hospital Wing.

"Strange," Harry said. "Snape barely insulted us at all."

Hermione ushered them out once they'd put their chairs back. After a quick glance back over her shoulder, she suggested quietly, "Let's get back to the common room first—it's almost your curfew."

* * *

As it turned out, they had just enough time to run to the kitchens and grab a snack before returning to Gryffindor Tower.

"I have an idea," Harry announced once they'd settled down in a secluded corner. "I think Hermione should go the first time and talk to Snape. He hates me and, no offense, Ron, I think Hermione would be best at judging whether this is for real or not."

"None taken," Ron said cheerily. "I completely agree. The only problem is if it's a trap, we can't send her alone."

"We can take my Invisibility Cloak. If this sounds good to you," Harry hurriedly added, glancing at Hermione.

She shrugged. If Snape was as subdued as he was that night, she figured she could handle it. Even if he wasn't, she was determined to deal with it maturely. She was also curious about Snape's knowledge of healing magic—he'd seemed to be able to lecture about it almost as comfortably as he taught Potions and Defence. "I don't mind."

"Alright, so now all we have to do is wait till Snape contacts us. I wonder how he plans on doing that discretely," Harry wondered aloud.

"He'll probably just put us all in detention," Ron said uncharitably. "Of course, that would rather bugger up our plan, wouldn't it?"

"Well, if that did happen, you'd just have to behave yourselves, wouldn't you?" said Hermione. "I think Professor Snape had a point—if you want to be treated like an adult, you have to show that you are one."

She watched Harry open his mouth to protest and prepared herself as he looked ready to prove her point. Then, with a surprising amount of restraint, he snapped his jaw shut and nodded so vigorously she thought he was going to get whiplash.

"I know, I know. You're right—as always," he said. The same boyish stubbornness she'd witnessed many times before suddenly graced his features. "I think when I was younger I didn't really understand; I always just reacted to things that happened. Now, though, it's war. And I need to start looking ahead—we can't keep letting Voldemort have the first move."

"We need a wild card—something to change things up," Ron agreed.

"That's all well and good, but _please_ don't rush into anything. We still don't have the whole picture here," Hermione stressed. She desperately did not want a repeat of what happened in their fifth year.

"Relax, Hermione," Ron said wryly. "This is war. The stakes are high. We get that."

She inhaled and exhaled deeply, examining their expressions carefully. While both boys still possessed a naive eagerness to make a difference, she was reassured to see that the eagerness in their eyes was lined with a maturity that had been absent before. When had her boys grown up?

"It took you long enough," she said bossily, and they all grinned at each other.

* * *

Friday of that week, the trio were staring wide-eyed—along with the rest of their classmates—as Snape announced that he would be taking over the Healing Magic classes.

"I am told that the new Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher will be adequately competent so there is no need to worry about a dip in the quality of your education," Snape continued, ignoring the stunned faces of the students around him.

"What about a dip in the quality of this class?" Ron joked in a hushed voice.

"What was that, Mr. Weasley?" Snape asked smoothly.

"Oh, nothing, sir," Ron replied quickly.

"Indeed. Detention, Mr. Weasley, for disrespect. In fact, why don't you and your friends help Mr. Filch clean the trophy case tonight?"

Hermione had perked up, assuming that this was finally their chance to get some information from Snape, only to deflate as he assigned them to Filch instead. She glanced dejectedly at Harry and Ron, who were gaping at Snape as if he had insulted their mothers. They must have been thinking the same as her.

"With Filch?" Ron repeated dumbly.

"Be at his office at 7—do _not_ be late. If you do not show up, I will know."

Hermione scowled. She hadn't done anything! And she needed to get ahead in her schoolwork again since the healing lessons with Madame Pomfrey took up much of her time in the night. She forced away the same flabbergasted expression that Ron and Harry were displaying. Was Snape playing them right now? Maybe he hadn't been sincere at all when he had made the offer. She worried that Harry and Ron were also reaching that conclusion, but they seemed oblivious to the possibility as there was no anger evident in their body language.

"Now, the most important aspect of healing is that you must know what you are treating and what spells are appropriate to do so. I want a five-feet essay detailing various common ailments that one might encounter, and how to treat them. Due on Monday."

While Hermione was still puzzled as to what Snape's intentions were, she found that his lecture content was enthralling and informative, though it was a lot of information and he seemed disinclined to slow down. He stalked the length of the classroom powerfully, occasionally stopping to demonstrate a wand movement or incantation. Hermione marveled at how someone who was bedridden just a few days ago could suddenly be moving about with such energy and presence. Snape certainly knew how to command a room. She watched him attentively for signs of his injury, but his behavior indicated nothing to suggest that he was still recovering; his strides were strong and even, his body held tightly upright.

Near the end of the class, Snape gestured to the mannequins sitting on their tables. "Alright, I want each of you to find a partner. One of you will cast a curse or hex at the mannequin and the other will have to treat the resulting injury. Then I want you to switch roles; once both of you have finished, you may go."

Fifteen minutes later, the seventh year students filed out of Snape's classroom. Harry dragged Hermione and Ron to the side of the stampede of students. He cast a quick privacy charm, to which Hermione nodded her approval.

"Detention with Filch!" he grumbled. "What about his offer? It was _his_ idea and now he isn't moving forward with it."

"There must be a reason he put us all in detention, though," Hermione pointed out. "Surely that's too much of a coincidence. Maybe after detention he'll speak with us?"

"I bloody well hope so. How much time does he think we need? That's almost another week with no information," Harry lamented.

"Well, I'm going to the library between now and dinner—I need to get some homework done. I'll meet you for supper and then we can go to detention," Hermione said briskly. She hoped she could finish Snape's assigned essay quick enough so that she could do her own research on more advanced healing magic.

She ignored the boys' customary eye rolls and jokes, spinning on her heel to hurry to the library. She sat at her usual table in the far end of the library and set her bag down. Quills and books were scattered methodically on the table while she dug through her bag for some parchment.

Once she found her book _Healing Spells to Get You Through Life_ , she settled down to begin her essay. Hermione soon discovered that the book that they had all been told to purchase by owl was terribly simplistic; she much preferred Snape's lessons since he would sneak in more advanced details that were omitted from the book. Granted, he often did so with a dismissive air, as if he didn't expect any of them to remember those asides. She made it a point to jot down everything extra that he included in his lecture content.

Scribbling diligently, she painted a tentative outline for her final essay. Hermione realized, though, as she flipped through her textbook, that the information in it was too sparse for her to use as her sole source. If Snape was so knowledgeable about healing magic, how could she impress him with the meagre offerings of one limp textbook? He was a notoriously stingy marker—she would need more information to appease his critical eye.

With a sigh, she stood up, cast some protection charms on her belongings, and made her way to the section of the library dedicated to healing. The books pertaining to the art were kept in a single, small shelf just outside of the Restricted Section. She was surprised to find that the enclosed area was already occupied by a slim figure.

"Hello, Professor," she greeted quietly, sidling in next to him to browse the books.

Snape grunted in reply, closing the book that he had been flicking through. "What are you doing here, Miss Granger?"

"I was just getting started on the essay you assigned, sir. The course textbook is awful—there's hardly any theory! It's essentially just listing spells and what they're for and how to do them. There are no explanations or background information—it might as well be a first aid handbook that I found in Mrs. Weasley's drawer," she ranted.

He was watching her dispassionately, and Hermione realized that he'd eventually began zoning her out; Snape had reopened his book and was reading intently. She was almost tempted to roll her eyes like she would at Harry or Ron.

"I mean, does the author even have a background in Healing? There's no character or sustenance in that book—like Hogwarts without students or teachers," she finished crossly.

Snape closed the book again and handed it to her. "I believe this book may be of more use to you."

"Oh, thank you, Professor." Her eyebrows raised at the unexpected gesture. "May I ask you a question?"

"I suppose you could," he said reluctantly, although his eyes told her that he would rather pick the 'flight' reaction.

"Why did you give Harry and me detention? I understand why you punished Ron—though I promise that he meant no harm in it."

"Do you remember what we spoke about Monday night?" he asked.

Hermione tried not to let her frustration show. Of course she did—that was the night that he'd overseen their healing lesson in the Infirmary. "I do."

"And have you come to a decision?"

"A tentative one," she answered honestly.

"Very well," he said, sounding unsurprised. "Then we can continue this conversation later."

With that, he brushed past her and she frowned as the trailing edges of his robe flicked against her. What did he have planned?

* * *

Dinner breezed past and suddenly the trio found themselves waiting outside of Filch's office. Hermione had filled the boys in on her conversation with Snape in the meantime.

"So you think he's definitely gonna say something tonight?" Harry asked anxiously.

"I do," Hermione confirmed. "After this detention, I suppose."

In a typical Snape manner, the Head of Slytherin turned a corner and bore down on them abruptly. The only difference between that moment and other times was that they had no reason to be frightened—after all, they certainly hadn't done anything this time

He stopped suddenly before them and scanned the hallway. Seemingly satisfied, Snape jerked his head for the Gryffindors to follow him as he made his way to his office. Hermione noticed that his gait was not as smooth as it normally was; he favoured his right leg in a slight limp that was otherwise overshadowed by his intimidating presence. She had a feeling that he was injecting more purpose into his stride so that anyone he came upon would be too preoccupied by the sneer of disdain on his lips to notice his weakness.

"Mr. Filch has been held up by an incident on the third floor, so I will take care of your detention tonight," he said, not bothering to check if they were following him.

Hermione ushered Ron and Harry behind the Potions Master and they stepped into his office. Snape performed a complicated maneuver with his wand; the back bookshelf slid aside on the cold stone dungeon floor.

"In here," he ordered.

Hermione continued forward while Harry and Ron exchanged looks of trepidation. She found herself standing in a small room with a leather couch and ornate coffee table.

"Sit."

Automatically, the three seated themselves on the couch. Hermione crossed her legs and catalogued the room. It was oddly cozy—certainly much more than Snape's office. A dark green, almost black, carpet adorned the floor and pillowed their feet from the cobblestone underneath.

"Blimey, does every professor have one of these rooms?" Ron's question, though whispered, mixed with the crackling of the fireplace and jumped through the air.

"In some form, yes," said Snape as he made himself comfortable in a cream armchair that reminded her unpleasantly of the Malfoys—it certainly wouldn't have been out of place in their manor. "Not that that is relevant in any way."

A confident air shrouded Snape as he crossed one ankle over his knee, lounging arrogantly. Hermione suddenly worried that it _was_ actually Lucius Malfoy in front of them, but Polyjuiced as Snape.

"Now, I believe we have business to attend to," he intoned. "Have you any news to share with me?"

"That depends, sir. Do you have anything to say to us?" Harry asked.

Snape adopted an impressed reaction, eyebrows raising. It was too exaggerated to be sincere, but was not so malicious as it might have been in years previous. Hermione narrowed her eyes. Something was very different. What could have changed to cause Snape to act like this? It had almost seemed like a dream or a joke before, but now she could see that this was for real. _Although there is always the possibility of Polyjuice._ She would have to check that later.

"Very good, Potter. It is wise to guard your information closely, although in this case I doubt that it is worth keeping secret—or if there even is any." Snape reclined further, throwing an arm over the back of the chair. "I, however, possess some information that may interest you."

"About the Order, sir?" Hermione asked quietly.

Snape inclined his head. "In a sense; the Order are currently scouting how much power the Dark Lord has in the Ministry. Avery is already dead, of course, so that is one less Death Eater to worry about."

"How much power _does_ he have?" Ron spoke up and Hermione was pleased to see that he was wearing the same expression that he always had while playing chess. She wondered if his chess skills could translate well to wartime applications.

"A good bit," Snape admitted. "It is difficult to tell, but it must be around an even split now - maybe even favouring the Death Eaters. Corruption was always rife in the bureaucracy. Unfortunately, that corruption has now been mixed with violence and devotion—whether willing or unwilling—to a psychopath."

"Then what can we do to help?" Harry asked desperately.

"You're asking me?" Snape replied ironically.

A pause. Hermione watched with wide eyes as Snape and Harry stared at each other. Snape was sneering but seemed genuinely puzzled, whereas Harry was almost defiant. She groaned inwardly. She knew that face; it meant that Harry was going to do something that was either brave or stupid or both.

"A point to Slytherin for finally clueing in. Two points from Slytherin for dragging things out so long," Harry said neutrally. "You know more than any of us currently. So, what should we do?"

Hermione blinked furiously. Was she dreaming? Her friend must've put a lot more thought into Snape's proposition than she'd originally thought. _Too bad he couldn't mention anything to us first._ She glared at the spectacled boy and he smiled sheepishly back.

"A well thought out, albeit mildly disrespectful, response," said Snape. "Ten points from Gryffindor for your cheek."

"Do you think I care about house points? This is important!" Harry's voice raised slightly.

"I don't."

Hermione laid a gentle hand on Harry's arm as his patience dwindled. While she had been impressed by his fairly mature behaviour up to that point, she was reassured to see that her short-fused friend still existed.

Snape smirked and Hermione rolled her eyes; he did love to bait Harry. Thankfully, this version of Harry-baiting was comprised of less insults. "I will think about it. In the meantime, perhaps it might be best if I had some individual meetings with each of you? Merely to discuss your strengths and interests as a way to best utilize your skills."

"That sounds… reasonable," Harry agreed cautiously.

"I do not have unlimited time, though, so it is unlikely that you will receive much prior notice before these meetings. Do not be surprised if the number of detentions you have increases." He didn't sound terribly apologetic.

"Did we actually have detention with Mr. Filch today?" Hermione questioned.

Again, that smirk appeared. "You did not."

"Merlin," said Ron, "and here I was preparing to spray paint the trophy cabinet so that it'd look brand new."

All occupants in the room goggled at him.

"What? I found it in my dad's suitcase."

"And on that note, I believe it is almost your bedtime," Snape said dryly. "I shall contact Mr. Weasley first, then have him carry messages to the rest of you. Try to have an idea of what you might suggest as strengths, no matter how feeble they are. Weasley?"

"Yes, professor?"

"Do bring me this paint can that you have stolen."

"Yes, professor," Ron mumbled.

Harry and Ron got up to leave, only to look behind them and realize that Hermione had not yet moved. She smiled at them.

"Go on ahead—I have a question about the essay due Monday."

"Blimey, I forgot about that," Harry muttered to Ron, their voices trailing from Snape's office as they closed the door.

"Lying to your friends?" Snape asked sardonically.

"I do have a question, sir. You can brew the potion required to change people back from animal Polyjuice incidents, can't you?" She hoped her attempt at subtlety wasn't terrible.

He graced her with a withering stare. "Did I not treat you with my own potion in your second year?"

Not many people could know that, could they? It couldn't be Malfoy in disguise…

She tried to look embarrassed as best she could. Actually, when she did think about it, she was a little abashed. "You saw me like that?"

"Indeed. Although with that hair, it was almost as if you had accidentally put in a lion's fur instead of a cat's."

Okay, he seemed legit—insults and all. "Er, yes, well, I was wondering whether you would classify that more as healing magic or potions. For example, would a Healer have to know how to brew that potion? It seems fairly complicated—even moreso than the Polyjuice itself—and I can't imagine they could brew it without extensive knowledge of Potions past NEWT level. Or would a Healer just have to know and be able to identify the potion, but have a Potions Master make it? Of course, the distinction between different fields seems to lessen as—"

" _Enough_ , Miss Granger. Get out, finish your essay _on your own time_ and leave me alone until I call on you again."

Hermione grinned—it was definitely Snape. He might have suddenly acquired more patience, but it had to be him. "Yes, sir. How is your leg, sir?"

"It would be much better _if you weren't here._ "

Well, maybe he hadn't changed that much.


	5. V Olive Branch

_**A/N:** This chapter is almost criminally short for how long it's taken me to upload, but I figured something was better than nothing, right? Terribly sorry about the wait. Hope you still enjoy reading my ramblings! Thanks for sticking with me :) PS I changed my username from _ KariusKop _to_ paien _for anyone that's confused (I had an identity crisis)._

Snape settled into his luxurious bed—the frame a gift from Albus, the mattress and duvet gifts from Lucius—and breathed a sigh. It had been a long, _long_ weekend, and he was disturbed to find that he was actually quite relieved that it was over and his normal teaching schedule could resume. Albus had held multiple Order meetings as the search for Death Eaters hidden within the Ministry continued. He had had to sit through hours of various members coming forward to pin the blame on their coworkers, and now the Order would have to divide their resources to check each employee. The problem with asking for the lower members' opinions was that Snape didn't put much stock on their views. How did they know that there was something off about their colleagues, or that it had simply been an off day due to personal reasons? Perhaps they simply didn't get along with another worker but held the misguided conviction that that person _had_ to be a Death Eater.

Snape scowled as he recalled the accusations that had been flung around. He pushed those memories to the back of his mind—the higher members of the Order had already debated the plausibility of each case and were still undecided about many of them, thus requiring additional time and effort to come to a definite conclusion. So much for efficiency.

Then, when Snape had finally had some time to himself, Lucius had displayed precisely how to go about with ruthless efficiency; he had Floo'd into Snape's office, grabbed Snape by the arm, and dragged him from his desk to the Floo. 'Draco has to kill Dumbledore,' he'd said before shoving Snape into the Floo.

 _That_ had been a bloody nightmare. Narcissa was hysterical and Lucius was infuriatingly unreasonable; as if Snape was willing to undergo an Unbreakable Vow. The only person that he had and would ever do that for was Albus Dumbledore. In the end, he had managed to calm the Malfoys enough that they made an oath to protect Draco to the best of their ability.

Snape rolled restlessly in his bed. Dumbledore had not been happy at this newest development. The work was piling on now and members of the Order were already stretched thin as it was. How much longer could they continue like this? They simply did not have the manpower to keep up with the Dark Lord's army.

Exhaling with a huff, he occluded his thoughts and resigned himself to making the most out of the five hours of sleep he could get before waking up to deal with seventh year Gryffindors and Slytherins.

* * *

This time, as Snape sat beside Lily on the grass, they were on the edge of the Forbidden Forest.

"Why here?" he asked and she shrugged.

"It's where your dream took us."

"And why are you in my dream?"

She smiled cheekily, like she was the holder of some important secret, prompting him to roll his eyes good-naturedly. "Guess."

"I despise guessing games."

"Oh, fine, you killjoy." She suddenly moved to face him, propping herself up with his shoulders. "I was doing some research into this agreement we made—"

"You had no idea what you were doing, did you?" Snape stated.

"Well, no," she admitted, "but now I do! It's actually quite fascinating, but I'll spare you the details—you need to get some rest, so I'll make this quick."

He was thankful that Lily knew not to babble, and thankful that he no longer craved her company like he once did. Whatever magic she'd employed had worked out well so far. What could possibly go wrong?

"It's really quite simple," she continued. "This pact will only apply for the duration of the war. It's main objective is that you protect Harry and his two friends to the best of your ability. In addition to this, you must also allow them to contribute as much as possible to defeating Voldemort—which, I believe, you've already gotten a headstart on. Once He has fallen, you are free to do as you please."

"Very well. And how will I know that I'm doing this right?"

"I'll be watching, Sev, don't worry."

* * *

Monday morning healing class began, and Snape could already feel a headache coming on as Longbottom failed yet again to mend an ear infection. Snape hadn't thought that there could be anything worse than the boy's performances in potions, but he now knew that he would rather have Longbottom as a Potions apprentice rather than let him become a Healer. The imagery of Longbottom botching up a broken bone like Lockhart was too much to bear.

But surely the boy couldn't be as bad as Snape thought he was. After all, Alice and Frank Longbottom had been competent Aurors. Not that it was any of his business - he wasn't terribly invested in Longbottom's life. Really, he should probably stop glaring at the boy.

Suddenly, a silver coin whizzed through the air past Snape's head and rebounded off the chalkboard behind him. He snarled at Potter and Weasley, who were glaring back at him then pointedly looking over at Longbottom; Granger had put her head in her hands.

"Potter! Weasley! Congratulations, you've earned yourselves another set of detentions." Snape scowled and summoned the sickle towards him. His expression didn't change as he examined the coin, which had '7 tonight?' engraved across it. Tucking the coin into his pocket, he tutted disdainfully. "If you have a problem with my teaching methods, Mr. Weasley, there is no need to throw your life savings at me. Now, return to your work."

Weasley was scowling right back at him while Granger made eye contact then began rummaging around in her bag. Snape wrapped his hand around the sickle and thought 'RW & HP only'. She glanced back up at him, confirming his suspicions as she punched Potter lightly on the arm and gestured to Weasley as well. Clever—they'd found a discrete method of communication for them to use and seemed willing enough to uphold their unlikely alliance. This was progressing much more smoothly than Snape could have hoped.

* * *

It was approaching seven as Snape rekindled the fireplace in his office. He rather preferred working in the sitting room, but was always mindful of being available to his students if they needed him.

Of course, it was because of this conscientiousness that Draco knocked on his door at ten to seven.

"May I speak with you?" Draco asked politely, standing in front of his desk.

"I believe that is what you are doing, yes," Snape replied mildly. He gestured for Draco to sit. "What is on your mind?"

"Well, I've been told that my father informed you of recent… developments," the young Malfoy began. "I was wondering if you have any advice for me."

"Ah." Snape cleaned up his work and set it aside on his desk. "I have not reached a definite conclusion yet." Draco's crestfallen expression, which hit him with all the subtlety of a bludger, prompted him to continue. "However, I will narrow it down to a few options that we may discuss together another time."

"But why not now?" Draco asked earnestly.

Snape shook his head. It was amazing how innocent the boy could be—almost childlike. "I must oversee a detention soon. In fact, Potter and Weasley are five minutes late."

As soon as he finished talking, two resounding knocks echoed from the door. He waved his hand to open it. Potter hustled in looking harassed; Weasley was more relaxed, holding an odd can in his hand.

"Sorry, Professor, Ron was looking for his spray paint," Potter said apologetically, eyeing Draco warily from the corner of his eye.

"You're late."

"Only by five minutes!" Ron protested.

Snape raised an eyebrow and glanced at the clock on the mantel. "Six."

"Sorry, Professor," Potter stepped in civilly. "We were looking for Ron's spray paint."

Draco sent Snape a questioning glance. "What is that?"

"Bloody hell, Weasley, just owl it back to your father." Snape stood up and motioned the two Gryffindors toward the door to the lab. "If you'll excuse me, Draco, we can continue this discussion another time."

The blond nodded and strode confidently between a parting of red and black; his path bisected the Gryffindor duo neatly. It was the kind of exit that Lucius would be proud of, having the very presence to have one's path make itself.

Potter's eyes followed Draco with an odd mixture of dislike and… Lust? _Merlin help me_ , Snape thought despairingly. _What a time for hormones to get involved_.

Once Draco had left and the door creaked shut, Snape beckoned the boys instead to the sitting room. At their surprised looks of relief, he rolled his eyes. "You didn't think that I was actually going to make you chop slugs, did you?"

Weasley shrugged and placed the can of spray paint on the coffee table. He muttered under his breath, "You can never be too sure."

"Besides," Snape continued blithely, "why would I force you two to do it when Granger could finish it in half the time?"

Stunned gazes speckled with confusion watched him.

"Was that a joke?" Weasley asked dumbly.

He smirked. Gryffindors were so easy to unbalance. "I've a few propositions for the two of you. Why don't we discuss them over a game of chess?"


	6. VI Turn of the Tide

**A/N:** _Surprise! This story is still alive and kicking. I hope y'all didn't lose too much hope this past little bit. School keeps me busy, but I still plan on finishing this story, don't worry! Updates will be slow until Christmas break, but you probably figured that out already. Anyway, thanks for sticking with me and here you go!_

 _Oh, and just so you're all aware, I'd mostly just been writing this for fun so I have no idea where I'm taking this, to be quite honest. Hopefully it doesn't seem too mish-mashed - I sort of just write what I feel like in that moment (which I don't recommend as the best writing strategy, but it's just for fun so yolo). Feel free to let me know about any discrepancies because I know I'll jumble some things up._

Hermione sat restlessly in the Gryffindor common room, eyes magnetically drawn to the large clock on the wall. Where could they be? Harry and Ron had gone to detention at seven, and it was nearing eleven now! Really, it was a good thing that she didn't have curfew.

Finally, at half past eleven, the two boys entered through the portrait. She jumped to her feet and scurried over to them.

"So? How'd it go?"

"Strangely well," Ron said in bemusement. "In fact, aside from that incident in healing class, I don't think he's insulted us at all today."

"It's brilliant, Hermione, he knows exactly what we can do to help the Order." Harry's eyes were shining, and she realized now how long that light had been absent in the last weeks. "And he even beat Ron at chess!"

Hermione found herself mildly taken aback at his enthusiasm but didn't have the heart to question him about it yet. "That's great, Harry. What did he say?"

"I'm going to start up Dumbledore's Army again, only this time we'll be working on defensive strategies. Ron's gonna come up with all sorts of different scenarios for us to go through." His mind seemed to be flying in all sorts of directions at the possibilities. "I don't know why we didn't think of doing this before. It's so obvious now, isn't it? The whole purpose of DADA is to protect yourself, but one person can only take on so many opponents. This way, we can help prepare people for multiple attacks. Snape said he'd give us tips to share, too."

"I'm glad he found something for you guys to help with," she said sincerely. "Did he give any hints on what my job would be?"

"Well," said Harry, "he told us that Ron and I needn't attend Madame Pomfrey's healing tutorials anymore, but for you to go like normal for the next session. Then you could decide what you wanted to do. Oh, and he also said that he'd be taking off 15 points for Ron's late essay."

Ron interjected indignantly, "That was a joke, though!"

"You better hope so," Hermione threatened half-heartedly. "Anyway, I need to head back and start on my arithmancy assignment.

"Sure thing, Hermione," Harry squeezed out mid-yawn.

"You go on up, Harry. I've got to ask Hermione a few questions about that essay," said Ron.

Harry raised his eyebrows salaciously. "Sure thing."

Ron's face blotched red and he glanced at Hermione nervously. "Er, about that…"

On her part, Hermione was also feeling rather awkward; her stomach had dropped unpleasantly. She held her breath as Ron stumbled forward while Harry trodded to their room.

"You know you're my best friend, right? I just don't feel _that_ way about you, you know?"

She exhaled in relief and wanted to laugh at Ron's rather constipated-looking expression. "It's okay, Ron. The feeling's mutual."

"Thank Merlin," he breathed, closing his eyes. He cast some privacy charms. "Now that that's out of the way, I wanted to talk to you about this whole Snape thing. Look, I can appreciate the absence of insults and stuff, but it just doesn't sit right with me—there's something weird about this. I mean, how is it possible that he suddenly doesn't hate us at all? Especially—"

"I agree. This needs some looking into."

"'Cause he couldn't stand Harry for basically his whole life—wait, what?"

"I'll do some research."

Ron gaped at her. "That's all you have to say? No defending the teacher, no saying that the sun shines out of their arses?"

"Don't be ridiculous, Ron," she scoffed. "Of course there's something going on here. It's not necessarily a bad thing right now, though. And I do think Professor Snape has an ulterior motive—"

Ron's eyes bugged out.

"—but I don't think that it's necessarily detrimental to us. What I'm more concerned about right now is how Harry _hasn't_ noticed anything unusual here. It's not like him."

"I wouldn't worry too much about him," Ron said sagely.

Hermione gave him a disbelieving look.

"No, really. Once he gets this Dumbledore's Army thing going again, he'll be back to his old stubborn, suspicious self - maybe a bit more mature, granted. He just needed something to do to feel useful."

She sighed. "I hope so."

* * *

The following morning arrived with Hermione shocked to find that the Daily Prophet had printed a ludicrous story about her and Ron's public breakup; Harry had waved the newspaper nervously in front of her face.

"That's funny," she said to Ron. Her mild voice rang across the Great Hall, a sharp contrast to the anger she felt. "I didn't realize that we were dating."

For once, the rag of a newspaper hadn't portrayed her as the reincarnation of Satan—that honour had gone to Ron, who had apparently callously revealed that he didn't have feelings for her. Sure, he wasn't always the most sensitive person ever, but she certainly hadn't run off crying about her undying love for him.

Being passed off as the victim still carried its cons, unfortunately. It was nearing lunchtime and she'd already been propositioned by some sleaze bags—one from each house except Slytherin, actually—that they could 'make it better.' The gall of that sixth year Gryffindor! She'd never even noticed him before. He could've at least had the courtesy to introduce himself.

What a day. Hermione made her way crossly to Arithmancy. The only thing that could make it worse would be if Crabbe or Goyle recited a love poem to her.

"MacLean! I don't care what garbage The Prophet writes—if you don't finish this assignment, I'll take eighty points off Gryffindor!" Snape's voice rang out from down the hall.

She smiled wryly to herself as she passed the door to the Healing Magic classroom. At least _someone_ wasn't willing to put up with this madness.

"In fact," he continued irritably, "that goes for anyone that I hear talking about that tripe—in class or out. If you lot would half concentrate on your studies rather than dedicate your time to this nonsense, you might actually graduate from Hogwarts."

She resisted the urge to peek in his classroom as she entered her class a few doors down. She hoped there were a few chastised looking faces inside.

* * *

Hermione was shuffling through her schoolwork while Harry and Ron lounged on her couch. She really ought to kick them out, since it was technically forbidden that she let anyone into her chambers as Head Girl. Oh well. At least she could keep an eye on them in here.

Suddenly, the _crack_ of Apparation echoed in the air and Dobby appeared in the middle of the room; all three of its occupants jumped in surprise.

"Professor Snape is wanting to see Miss Granger in the Hospital Wing," the house elf informed them with a harassed expression.

"Oh, alright, then," Hermione said. She packed away her paper and stood up. "I suppose I'll head there now, shall I? Is everything okay, Dobby?"

Dobby tugged at his ears. "Oh yes, Miss Granger, do not worry about Dobby—Dobby is very good. But the Headmaster is asking for two dozen cookies and Dobby is needing to bake them soon!"

Ron snorted. "Well, while you're at it, Dobby, can you spare a few for us, too?"

"Oh, certainly, sir!" Dobby exclaimed enthusiastically. "Dobby will bake them right away!"

Hermione swatted at Ron once the house elf had left. "I think you could've lived without those extra cookies."

"What? If he's making them anyways I'm just saving him the later effort."

"Alright, get out, you two—I've got to see what Snape wants."

She checked in her pocket for her sickle, easily slipping back into the habit of her Dumbledore's Army days. It hadn't heated up. Why hadn't Snape used it to communicate instead of using a house elf? The sickles were smaller than the galleons that they normally used - perhaps his message had been too long? Or, although she found it unlikely, he had simply forgotten about it.

"I may need to modify them," she murmured to herself as she grabbed her cloak and stepped into the hall. If the sickles weren't convenient for him, they would need to find a method that was.

"Miss Granger," Snape inclined his head in greeting as she gently slid the door closed behind her. "I apologize for the short notice. Due to unforeseen circumstances, I must cancel our meeting for tomorrow."

"Oh, that's quite alright. I presume tonight shall be our meeting then?" Hermione queried, head rather spun that he had even apologized in the first place. She greeted Madame Pomfrey and settled herself in the back room where Snape had been treated.

He raised an eyebrow disdainfully at her question.

*Well, I couldn't bask in the glow of his apology forever*, she thought wryly. "That was a rhetorical question."

"Indeed."

Resisting the urge to scratch the back of her neck sheepishly - Merlin, she must be spending too much time with Ron; what an awful habit to pick up - she asked, "Why didn't you use your sickle to communicate?"

Snape grimaced, and for once she didn't feel as though it was directed at her. "It may have met an… unfortunate end," he muttered.

"What do you mean?"

His scowl focused back on her, full force. "Does it matter now? Needless to say, I have deactivated the sickle should the wrong person come across it. I suggest you do the same with yours."

"Oh, but I could make another one for you, sir," she offered hopefully. She'd truly thought they had been a good idea.

"I do not think that would be prudent. However, I do encourage you to look for other discrete means of communication."

"What was wrong with the sickle?" Hermione asked dejectedly, unable to stop herself.

He sighed loudly. "Your friend Lupin has a penchant for chocolate… and a lack of funds to acquire it."

"Remus stole your sickle?!" she couldn't help but exclaim in shock. It was a very odd thing for him to do, and certainly an act she'd thought was beneath him—no matter how much he loved chocolate.

"Not exactly," Snape ground out between his teeth. Merlin, she felt like she was a dentist trying to pull this story from him. "I offered him some coins and may have mistaken the important sickle for a normal one."

Hermione couldn't help it; a giggle escaped her at the absurdity of the situation. Snape's face darkened further.

"I was preoccupied with more important things. For now, however," he said forcefully, "I would like to discuss what you actually came here for."

"Yes, sir." She straightened immediately.

"How would you feel about some more advanced lessons in Healing magic?"

Did he even need to ask? Of course she would like that! She did her best to rein in her eagerness though, knowing first-hand how he felt about unseemly overenthusiasm.

Without giving her a chance to compose herself and answer, Professor Snape stood up and headed towards the Hospital Wing doors. "Good. Then you will follow me to my office."

She scowled to herself but followed him sulkily to the dungeons. Merlin, he was insufferable sometimes. Her eyes narrowed as she trailed behind his powerful strides, examining for signs of his previous limp. Could it really have healed as quickly and easily as that? She knew that magic was capable of many things that the Muggle world was not—especially with regards to medicine—but surely the evidence of an injury as severe as his could not be erased so seamlessly? She would have to ask him about it when they got to his office.

Although, as Professor Snape mockingly held his office door open for her, Hermione glanced uneasily at the glint in his eyes. She had a feeling that these lessons wouldn't be as innocently educational as the previous ones had been.


	7. VII Machinations

**A/N:** _It's still alive! It may be slow going, but I promise this story will eventually crawl over the finish line. Hanable- 13, looking back on it, it does seem like a weird rule, doesn't it? I think I was thinking of the dorm rules where boys weren't allowed in the girls' rooms and vice versa and just applied that to the Head Girl's rooms. No idea, in all honesty. Good eye though!_

 _Thanks again for reading! :) This story's been taking some wild turns in my head so let me know what you think! I imagine I'll need to change the summary around a bit..._

He had actually planned on beginning these lessons another time, but had decided not to. The sooner she learned, the better. Snape had a feeling that Dumbledore wouldn't be as appreciative of this practicality if he discovered the true nature of these teachings.

It was important for someone to know, though. Snape certainly wouldn't be around forever. And then what would they do when, in the midst of a war, Arthur Weasley was ambushed while at work at the Ministry and hit with an Entrail Eating Curse? Or if a student was cursed ala Katie Bell? What if Potter, their Golden Boy, was cursed and they watched his flesh burn him from the inside out, utterly helpless.

He needed someone who could think logically and rationally under pressure while being able to quickly identify a countercurse. Then, he needed someone who could execute such a complicated piece of magic under duress. And who better to assault with years upon years worth of material than Hermione Granger? She was their best bet for learning as much of this as he could teach.

Snape led Hermione to his sitting room, waving a hand distractedly for her to seat herself. He placed himself in his favourite armchair and leaned forward, elbows resting on his knees. He stared at her, eyes roving over her body language before he settled on her wary but curious eyes.

"Before we go any further with this, Granger, I want you to know that after this lesson, it is completely up to you whether you wish to continue. While I have full faith in your abilities, I will understand if you refuse these lessons—we will simply advance with your normal healing lessons."

Hermione opened her mouth to speak, but Snape raised a hand to silence her. He needed her to fully understand what these teachings would entail before he allowed her to voice her decision.

"Dark magic is dangerously addictive. It leeches off suppressed anger and bitterness. It appeals to your magic's tendency for destruction and power. Do you know why dark magic is such a taboo?"

Granger was so focused that she didn't even blink at his question.

Snape continued, "It starts off small—almost innocent—and seems harmless. How can using one simple spell turn someone towards dark magic if it is only intended to avenge a friend? Defending someone's honor—isn't that an act of light? But once that first spell is used and there doesn't appear to be any disastrous consequences, the caster may seek to learn more of this kind of magic.

"Even if none of the spells studied are violently malicious, dark magic will begin to seep into your core. It preys on your past experiences and beliefs in an attempt to justify its use. And it will be successful. *No one* can resist how dark magic makes the world bend to your will at the expense of others because they believe that they are acting to better society. And when that first Lung-Puncturing curse kills an abusive ex-boyfriend, say, is that such a bad thing? Isn't the world a better place without him?"

Snape concluded his spiel and leaned back in his chair, eyes never leaving Granger's face. Her brow was narrowly furrowed and she unconsciously leaned back as well.

"Dark magic, even when used little by little, can overtake someone's magical core and—eventually—their soul. It will utterly change their personality. Now, are you prepared to delve into this side of magic?" he asked, baring his teeth. Of course, he would ensure that she did not bow to the addiction as he once had. But he needed to gauge her reaction before he was willing to explain more.

Her throat swallowed convulsively. "I am," she croaked out.

He eyed her tense posture critically and was pleased to find that, even though her hands clutched at her thighs in uncertainty, her expression was open with no signs of judgment. *Good girl*.

"Very well." Snape stood abruptly and held his arm out to the side. Accio 'Guarding the Mind'. He deftly caught the whizzing book and handed it to Hermione. "If you are to learn more about dark magic, you must first study—if not master—Occlumency. It is currently the only known method of resisting dark magic once it has anchored into your soul. While I do not plan on allowing that to happen, it is a precaution that I require before you begin any practical applications. However, you should be fine as I only expect you to cast the counter curses to any dark spells."

Granger nodded, eyes wide, and moved her white-knuckled grip to the book.

"You are exceedingly quiet, Miss Granger," Snape murmured. "Are you sure you are up to the task?"

She seemed to forcibly relax her hands and stood up so that she was no longer at eye level with his crotch. "Yes, sir," she said. He suspected that she sounded far more confident than she felt.

He nodded once and gestured for her to follow him down the hall to his lab.

"I've rearranged my lab specifically for tonight. The wards have also been altered so that you may enter—do not expect to walk into this room so easily in the future." Snape heaved the heavy door open and gestured for Hermione to enter first. "The Headmaster has let me borrow his Pensieve, where I have selected a few memories for you to view. You are under no obligation to finish them if you find the contents distressing."

He ignored her audible gulp.

"I will view the memories with you if that is what you prefer," he offered neutrally so as not to offend her. It was important, though, that she understand just how seriously he was willing to proceed.

She shook her head. Stubborn.

"I think this is something I should do by myself," Granger said quietly.

Merlin, but she already sounds like she's aged fifty years. Snape prayed that teaching her was the right thing to do. She could handle it, couldn't she?

"Someone has to," he muttered under his breath, unknowingly continuing his inner monologue. Poppy Pomfrey was only one person—she certainly couldn't be expected to bear the brunt of any injuries by herself. In particular, it would be useful to teach Hermione so that someone close to the Order, other than himself, was able to counteract certain curses.

Granger didn't notice his musings as she had begun to walk towards the Pensieve in the centre of the room as if in a trance. Snape clenched his teeth to stifle a hiss as his left arm burned suddenly. Fuck. Brilliant timing as always by the Dark Lord.

"Granger," he barked. The girl startled. "There is an important matter that I have neglected to attend. You may stay here and watch the memories while I'm gone. Do not touch anything else—leave immediately and close the door when you are done."

Swearing under his breath, Snape stormed into his chambers to don his Death Eater attire.

* * *

Malfoy Manor had always been expansively luxurious, albeit in a cold, unwelcoming sense. However, as Snape appeared at the gates of the manor, he immediately knew that something was not right; even the air carried a sense of foreboding as it swirled around his cloak. This was not the same unease that he had felt when he first visited Malfoy Manor as an awkward, impoverished adolescent. No, the Dark Lord was certainly putting some sort of plan in motion.

Snape felt a frisson run through him before he shook himself out of his thoughts. It wouldn't do to keep the Dark Lord waiting.

He met Lucius along with the Dark Lord in the drawing room and bowed respectfully.

The Dark Lord smiled toothily and Snape forced himself not to curl his lip in disgust. "Excellent, Severus. Come with us—I have something to show you."

"Of course, my Lord," he deferred. This was not good. Where were the other Death Eaters? As he fell in line behind the Dark Lord—arrogant tosser wouldn't let anyone walk in front of him— Lucius sidled alongside him and attempted to convey some reassurance with a twitch of his shoulders.

"Trust me," the blond mouthed.

Snape sent him an unimpressed look. "About what?" he mouthed back, scowling. As much as he loved Lucius, this was not a situation where he was excited or willing to risk a trust test.

Before Malfoy could reply, though, the Dark Lord began to speak.

"You know, Severus, I had hoped to keep you uninvolved with this."

Out of sight from Voldemort, Snape's usual smooth gait jerked anxiously. Had he fallen out of favor? Lucius nudged him with his shoulder in another attempt at comforting his friend. Snape rolled his eyes this time—really, no wonder Draco was so jumpy when touched. Lucius was bloody awful at tactile comfort.

"However," the Dark Lord continued, blissfully unaware of Snape's inner turmoil, "we seem to have hit a rather inconvenient block. Lucius suggested that we consult your expertise and I must say that I agree. Certainly, I would have liked to include a sharp mind like yourself from the beginning. With you working so close to Dumbledore, though, I had thought it rather… prudent to spare you the strain of hiding such research from him. You understand, of course, Severus."

The Dark Lord hadn't turned around as he led them down an old but grandiose staircase. Snape was growing increasingly concerned with each word that came out of Voldemort's mouth. What in Merlin's name had he done?

As they reached the base of the stairs - although he had never been down there before, the dungeon appeared just as over the top as the rest of the Manor—the sounds of desolate sobbing echoed against the marble walls. Snape's wand hand twitched.

"My Lord?" he dared to question quietly.

"Ah, it is finally time for you to meet our guests," Voldemort said softly. "I do hope the Carrows didn't break them—not the brightest followers I've ever found, in truth. We had run out of ideas though, you see, and the Carrows do have their own… shall we say, talents, that we hadn't yet tried."

Voldemort stopped in front of one of the cells, where a thin, shaking body was curled up on the ornate floor. The Dark Lord situated himself in an antique armchair and gestured for Snape and Malfoy to sit in the nearby uncomfortable-looking wooden chairs. How generous, Snape thought dryly.

"As you can see," Voldemort began, completely indifferent to the wails emitted by the body in front of them, "we have been experimenting."

Snape kept his face passive as he examined the person. At this point, he couldn't even distinguish if it was a male or female—only rags on bones, pale skin cut and bruised. Even so, surely he would recognize them if he knew them? As horrible as it was, he prayed it was only a muggle.

"For what purpose, my Lord?" he enquired.

"What do you know of our progress in the Ministry?" Voldemort queried instead.

Snape blinked once, casting a side glance at Voldemort before returning his gaze to the prisoner. "It appears promising," he answered.

Voldemort laughed delightedly, and Snape caught Lucius's look of consternation at the sound.

"Indeed, Severus. And once we have taken the Ministry, we will be able to register all Mudbloods and remove their magic."

Remove their magic? Was that even possible?

"Well, that, unfortunately, is the one small problem," Voldemort admitted upon seeing Snape's confusion. Snape was relieved to note that Voldemort had also mistaken his horror at removing someone's magic for horror at the possibility of the plan failing.

"What has been tried so far?" he asked, grateful to Lucius for ensuring that he could gain information for the Order about this plan, but feeling equally as weary. To completely remove someone's magic was unthinkable. He couldn't even imagine the feelings of powerlessness that such an act would induce. Granted, he had witnessed a variation of the effects firsthand during his childhood.

"Lucius has been looking through the many books in his library, although with so many books you can imagine it is quite time-consuming. I allowed the Carrows the opportunity to ah, beat the magic out of someone, if you will - rather uncouth, but seems the most effective method so far. I wonder, however, if it is only temporary…" At this, the Dark Lord gazed at Snape expectantly.

Snape scowled when he realized what Voldemort was asking about. Bloody bastard.

"My mother's case was rather unique," he stated, allowing his anger at the Dark Lord to seep into his tone, as if disgusted by his mother's weakness. "While I imagine that, with enough dedication, the effects could be permanent, it does not seem a particularly reliable method." It also seemed to require his father's consumption of copious amounts of alcohol. And was also absolutely barbaric.

Voldemort nodded to himself. "My sentiments, as well. Afterall, your abilities did not seem to be stunted."

Breathe in, breathe out. Breathe in, breathe out.

He wasn't certain he could trust himself to speak without offending the Dark Lord, so Snape merely inclined his head in acknowledgement.

Voldemort's red gaze lingered on him while Snape trained his focus on the prisoner in front of them, who only now appeared to notice that there were people watching her. He pretended not to notice Voldemort's searching eyes. Beside him, Lucius was sitting stiffly on edge as he witnessed the exchange.

Thankfully, the prisoner's sudden shifting drew the Dark Lord's attention.

"I have noticed that, after the Carrows' treatment, this particular witch—"

Snape held his breath. Not a muggle, then.

"—did appear to lose some of her magical ability. It was still present in her core, but there was some sort of block preventing her from accessing it. My theory, then, is that it is not so crude as to literally beat the magic out, but that one's ability to access magic is based on emotional state."

Snape listened with one ear as he searched the witch for any signs of her identity. Not that he would be able to help her either way.

"Her magical ability seemed to fade when she stopped fighting the Carrows - due to a loss of hope, perhaps? If you could design a potion, Severus, that removed one's will to live, I wonder if that would coincide with reduced magical ability..." Voldemort's voice trailed off thoughtfully.

Despite himself, Snape was intrigued by the idea. Between bouts of torturing followers and obsessive plots revolving around Potter, he often forgot that Voldemort could be incredibly lucid and brilliant. He would have to be careful, though, if the Dark Lord was in one of his 'sane' phases. "Do you believe that that is more plausible than simply trying to shut down their magical core?"

"Attacking the magical core by itself is difficult - it seems too resilient. I daresay if it were as easy as destroying the core that we would have found, or known, about the spell already." Voldemort twirled his wand in his hand, eyes narrowed as he watched the prisoner crawling closer to them. "If you could emulate the effect of the dementors, for instance, such an absence of happiness should prevent a Mudblood from accessing magic. Much like what happened to your mother."

Snape's eyes flashed in irritation, but he refused to rise to the bait. Now he knew the Dark Lord was toying with him. Sane phase or not, the man was a bloody sadist. He could usually manage to work his way around the man in this state though. The Dark Lord must be ecstatic about this new project to be in this kind of mood.

Voldemort sighed in exaggerated disappointment - at least, Snape hoped it was feigned—when he didn't respond. "You always were too clever for your own good, Severus. Of course, that is why I keep you around, isn't it? I expect to hear of some progress on the potion in a month. Don't slack on your spying duties. You're clever enough to manage the two tasks, aren't you?"

This time, when hard red eyes met his, Snape knew an answer was required. "Yes, my Lord."

"Excellent."


	8. VIII Planting Seeds

_A/N: BAM! Two chapters in less than a week (I think)! Here ya go, folks. I didn't go into too much detail for the Pensieve scene since you've technically already seen it - hope it didn't feel too undescriptive (that's a word apparently..?) Thanks for reading :)_

Hermione frowned as she heard Snape storming out of his quarters. The echo of his office door slamming signalled his departure, and she turned her attention back to the Pensieve

Her hands shook as she carefully braced them around the edge of the Pensieve, making sure that she did not come in contact with the swirling liquid in the basin. Was she ready for this? Hermione knew, somehow, that once she entered these memories everything would be different. _She_ would be different.

Who was she kidding, though? The war had already changed them - Harry and Ron weren't the same mischievous boys she once knew, and she was certain that her priorities had long since shifted away from simple schoolwork.

Taking a deep breath, Hermione dipped her head inside the Pensieve and found herself falling through a sea of blurred memories before landing in a strange house. She whirled around in alarm at the unearthly screeching that carried over from the room across from her. What in Merlin's name…?

She hadn't even noticed the memory's Snape and Malfoy until they walked right through her, leaving her shuddering at the cold sensation. She quickly recovered and rushed to follow the two men, unconsciously sidling closer to Snape as she glanced uncertainly at the elder Malfoy - the two only distinguishable from each other by their hair. She valiantly ignored the sight of her professor dressed as a Death Eater. Was this what he had left so abruptly for? To participate in a raid like this? Hermione didn't know how to feel about that.

Crossing the threshold, her ponderings were interrupted as she was forced to concentrate on not vomiting at the sight before her. Organs were plastered all over the room; she had never realized how accurate Pensieve memories could be until the smell of rot and filth almost caused her to double over. Was there really a spell that could cause this kind of damage? And if so, _how_ would she ever be able to reverse its effects? Snape was insane - it would require almost instant treatment to even fathom restoring such damage.

The Muggle woman's screaming finally cut off as one of the Death Eaters ended the Cruciatus Curse - Hermione had a feeling it wasn't the first round. She almost missed Snape's words as she watched him in horrified fascination:

"Charming, Mulciber." The disarray of entrails was drawn neatly into a pile.

Hermione frowned and took a step back from the scene. Snape was so - indifferent. To her discomfort, she found herself wondering if he was truly loyal to the Order. If he was, he was a damned good actor.

Realizing that she had missed the next exchange between the Death Eaters in the room, she hurried after Snape's agitated figure up the stairs as the living room scene blurred.

* * *

She must be a masochist, really. The new scene taking place was even more horrifying than the last. What had she expected? _Of course_ a Death Eater raid had to include more torture. She automatically reached for her wand to hex the Avery bastard as he left the room after hitting the child with a blood-boiling curse. Her angry _Petrificus Totalus_ hit the memory Death Eater in the back but only fizzled out pathetically.

"Disgusting, vile excuse for a human…" she muttered, shaking with rage. Turning back to Snape's memory version, Hermione was frozen to the spot at the agony in her professor's eyes. _How_ could she be so foolish to think that this didn't affect him? She instantly regretted questioning his loyalty, even if it was only in her head.

"Forgive me," she heard Snape whispered brokenly to the room. Glancing at the baby - for she could only stomach a glance - Hermione knew what he had to do. She was no healer, but even she could see that there was no saving it now, except for saving the child from further pain.

She found herself grasping Snape's shaking shoulder as the Killing Curse flew through the air and ended the child's suffering. It wasn't _fair_ \- a whole family destroyed in one night. Snape straightened and she felt a twinge of admiration for his fortitude.

There was no time to dwell on her surging respect, however, as her eyes widened at the sight of an Imperius'd Tonks. The curse hit Snape's leg and she winced at the oddly flobberworm shape that it adopted, small splinters of bones ripping through his trousers. This must have been how he had ended up in the hospital wing.

The memory ended and Hermione was jolted back to reality, the cold air of the lab hitting her skin. She wiped a few stray tears from her face and stared unseeingly at the Pensive. It was atrocious - she'd always known magic could be used to hurt, but to see it being done in such an explicit way was overwhelming.

Of course, that was why they were fighting against Voldemort. She refused to allow small raids like that to become the norm. It wasn't _right_. Hermione squared her shoulders resolutely. She was no healer, but if she could prevent a child's suffering and ease Snape's pain, then she bloody well would do.

She quietly exited the lab, jumping despite herself when the large door closed behind her. How long had she been down there? Hermione wandered back to the sitting room and checked the clock hanging above the fireplace: 9 o'clock. She pursed her lips in thought and eyed Snape's bookshelf covetously. From the way he had told her to leave when she was done, it didn't seem like he planned on returning anytime soon…

With a grim, determined smile, Hermione perused the shelf for books pertaining to Occlumency. If she was going to learn as much as possible about countercurses, she'd need to pick up Occlumency quickly - especially if she planned on being able to remain calm to treat her patients. She wasn't so naive to assume that she could face evidence of torture as coolly as Snape could.

Besides, she should be able to fit in a decent amount of reading before curfew. Then she could pass off her presence in the dungeons as simply doing rounds for her Head Girl duties.

Grasping a simple black leather book titled _Occlumency: Knowing Your Mind_ , Hermione settled herself into the armchair Snape had occupied earlier.

 _Magic of the mind requires a sizable amount of discipline and determination. As such, the basics of Occlumency and Legilimency may be acquired but seldom are the skills mastered…_

* * *

"What. _The fuck._ Are you doing here?"

Hermione jolted awake, knocking the book off her lap. She screamed at the sight of the Death Eater standing at the doorway and dove for her wand on the coffee table.

"Merlin's tits, Granger, it's me." Snape removed the Death Eater mask.

Hermione took one look at the scowl on his face and almost rathered face the mask. Unfortunately, her brain was not quite caught up with proceedings. "You've a foul mouth, professor."

"And you've a detention tomorrow before class." Snape's scowl had somehow managed to deepen. "Get _off_ my table. In fact, return my book and get _out_."

Oh, he was mad. His goodwill towards her and the boys only lasted so long, apparently. Granted, she rather deserved it in this circumstance. As she pocketed her wand and stood up, she finally regained her bearings and replayed the last minute in her mind. Shite. Bugger. She did _not_ just say that to him - even if it was true. And then -

"Wait, detention before class?! That's in six hours if I want time for breakfast!"

"Well, you should have thought of that before deciding to take a nap in my armchair," Snape replied snidely.

"Don't you need sleep?" Hermione asked, aghast. Tomorrow - or was it today? - was not going to be a good day.

"Oh, I believe I'll make time," he said, looking over her darkly. She imagined he was envisioning her being consumed by slugs.

Grimacing, she carefully picked Snape's book off the floor and laid it on the table. He glowered again. Hermione tried her best to convey her sincere contrition in her expression. She truly hadn't meant to fall asleep, although perhaps perusing his books without permission hadn't been the best idea. She'd only wanted to make the most of her time, though.

"My apologies, sir. The time got away from me," she murmured as she prepared to let herself out.

Snape sighed and tossed his mask carelessly onto the couch. He glanced at the title of the book on the table and his anger seemed to fade. "You may floo to your rooms, Miss Granger. I'll set it up from my fireplace."

Hermione couldn't help but raise her eyebrows in surprise. That was… unexpected. Perhaps their truce was still intact.

"You are… not wrong to want to begin as soon as possible," he offered quietly. Then, more sternly, "However, I would prefer if you did not rifle through my books without my presence."

"Yes, sir. Sorry, sir." With Snape acting somewhat more tolerable, and herself feeling more awake, Hermione was struck with the sudden urge to explain herself. "It was just that, after viewing your memories, I didn't want to waste time and I figured since there are no books on Occlumency in the library…"

Snape dragged a pale hand through his hair tiredly and Hermione blinked, finally focusing on his face long enough to see that he did not appear well. She remembered then that this was the same man who had had to end a child's life not too long ago, and the same man who had agreed to help her and the boys.

"Professor Snape, perhaps you ought to push my detention till later? I realize that I earned it, but you needn't jeopardize your own sleep," she said hesitantly.

He ignored her. "No, something important has come up."

She gasped, thinking that Voldemort was calling again.

He seemed to understand what she was thinking and rolled his eyes. "Not like that. However, the Dark Lord has certainly been busy and I must inform the Headmaster immediately."

That did not bode well. Hermione watched in silence as the professor tapped his wand along the fireplace, unable to bring herself to ask for clarification about what had transpired with Voldemort.

"There, I've linked our floos together. I believe this will be a more adequate method of meeting, anyway, so that no one will notice your presence in the dungeons. I trust Mr. Potter and Mr. Weasley will be able to utilize your floo as well?"

"Oh, certainly, sir." She tried not to gape at the implicit trust of the setup.

Of course, he once again seemed to follow her train of thought. "No, you won't be able to floo in to satisfy your book cravings whenever you please. Have Dobby contact me to unward the floo if you need to contact me. I shall do the same if I wish to reach any of you. Understood?"

Well, that made much more sense. She nodded.

"After you, Miss Granger," Snape gestured to the fireplace.

Hermione took a handful of floo powder. "You'll tell us what's happening after you've spoken with Professor Dumbledore?"

He inclined his nod slowly.

"Alright." Taking a deep breath, Hermione rushed to speak her thoughts before he could kick her out. "IjustwantedtosaythatIreallyappreciatewhatyou'vedonefortheOrder."

Snape's brow furrowed as he tried to decipher her words.

Well, in for a penny… "AndI'msorrythatyouhavetodothatstuffandIpromisetotryandlearnasmuchaspossibleaboutthesecountercurses." Quickly, before he could gather his thoughts, Hermione floo'd back to her rooms.

She threw herself onto her bed, limbs sprawled. Merlin, that had required a lot of air.


	9. IX Truce

**A/N:** _Another chapter! Although I gotta admit, you probably shouldn't get used to this 'cause I'll be starting my summer job next week and won't have as much time to write. Enjoy while it lasts though_ — _I definitely am!_

 _Oh, and this might be really sad, but I was originally too lazy to look up this symbol_ — _(which is apparently called an EM dash) but I realized you can draw it on Google Docs and it'll find it for you! So I'm gonna go back and change all of my E N dashes (the power of learning grammar terms from Google) to EM dashes! Letting you know just in case you get notifications from my updating! Thanks again for reading :)_

Snape stepped out of the Floo and into his sitting room, feeling utterly dead on his feet after speaking with Dumbledore. The Headmaster had said that they would find something to bring back to Voldemort after Snape's one month deadline, but he had his doubts. Unfortunately, Albus was inundated with Order business and was rather pants at Potions—he'd have to find his own solution in his free time.

He picked up the Death Eater mask on his couch and placed it in the drawer of his nightstand. It was nearing one in the morning and he suddenly regretted assigning Granger a six a.m. detention. He hadn't appreciated arriving home and stumbling upon her sleeping form, but there truly was no reason for him to punish himself as well. As angry as he'd been, he couldn't fault her when it was her work ethic that he was counting on to motivate Potter and Weasley.

He sighed, removing his robes and clothes automatically. It was too late now to change his mind anyway. Climbing into bed, Snape was almost asleep when an idea struck him and he jolted back upright. The trio needed to get started on Occlumency as soon as possible; Granger, as always, had a head start but if he ordered Potter and Weasley to attend her detention as well… After all, there was no reason to suffer alone.

"Dobby," he called.

The little house elf popped into view immediately. "Yes, Master Snape! What can Dobby do for Master Snape?"

"Please inform Miss Granger that she is to bring Harry Potter and Ron Weasley along with her for detention tomorrow."

"Yes, sir! Is Master Snape wanting this message delivered now?"

His lips curled in satisfaction. "Please do, Dobby."

* * *

Snape woke at half past five with a groan. _Why_ had he thought that was a good idea? He wasn't a morning person on a good day—to begin his morning in the company of a Gryffindor trio was a horrendous plan. In fact, he needed some Slytherin backup.

His soul better be bloody whole after putting himself through this _._

* * *

Four sets of bleary eyes watched him in his sitting room. He had managed to rouse himself early enough to take a quick shower and was feeling significantly more awake. Snape smiled sardonically at his inattentive students.

"I see you've all made it here on time. I must say, I'm rather impressed."

A few grunts of acknowledgement. Only Granger appeared mildly present, but even she was staring off into the distance. Well, that wouldn't do.

Accio'ing the occlumency book that Granger had been reading, Snape casually caught it and raised an eyebrow when only Draco followed its movement. As a result, only Draco was prepared for when Snape slammed the book onto the coffee table; Granger startled while Potter and Weasley nearly jumped off the couch, elbowing each other in the sides.

"Now that I've got your attention," Snape said smoothly, "I want to stress the importance of learning Occlumency."

Draco opened his mouth to speak but Snape cut him off quickly.

"And I want Draco here to help with your progress, seeing as he has been practicing for almost a year now." Snape shook his head when he caught Draco's dumbstruck expression. "Although his every day application leaves something to be desired."

At least he had their attention now. Draco was gaping in a way that reminded Snape of the time Lucius had walked in on him wrestling with Sirius Black—somehow, they'd destroyed their clothes and ended up in their underwear in an empty classroom during another spat. _That_ was not an event that Snape deigned to remember.

Potter was avoiding eye contact with Draco. Snape didn't know when he'd decided to play matchmaker, but he prayed to Albus Dumbledore that his meddling would turn out well. His godson deserved to be happy amidst all the war stress, even if that happiness came in the form of Harry bloody Potter. He ignored the nagging reminder that he was also helping Potter in the process.

Weasley, meanwhile, did not appear particularly keen on the idea. Granger was watching Snape avidly for whatever reason, and Snape could feel the beginnings of a headache creeping up his neck already.

He sighed. "It is merely an option that I would like you all to consider. We're all on the same side here, even if it does not always seem so. It would be to your benefit to at least acquire a basic grasp of Occlumency."

* * *

Two weeks later, Snape found himself patrolling the corridors in a fit of insomnia. He headed from him office, intent on checking the alcoves on the third floor to unleash his sleep-deprived irritation, only to halt abruptly as he brushed past a tingling of privacy charms. He stared at the door leading to the classroom where he and Black had scuffled and frowned. Usually his Slytherins were more subtle than this if they were to sneak out.

Instead of undoing the charms and barging in, Snape wordlessly cast a Disillusionment spell and slipped inside the door. However, once he recognized the two boys inside, he realized the subterfuge was unnecessary. Potter and Draco were so wrapped up in each other—literally—as they snogged that Snape could have walked in with a singing hippogriff and they wouldn't have noticed.

 _That was fast,_ he thought wryly. At least they hadn't ripped off each other's clothes like he and Black had, albeit in completely different circumstances. He couldn't hear what the two were saying when they finally broke apart and he was surprised to see Draco leveraging his wand at Potter, the constant eye contact and stillness of their bodies indicating the use of Legilimency.

Well, at least they were being mildly productive. Rolling his eyes, Snape cast some extra privacy spells to mask their identities in case someone else stumbled upon them and prepared to slip out of the room. Before he could leave, Draco glanced up briefly and winked at him.

Snape sent a weak stinging hex at the blond in return and whispered, "Behave."

"Eh, did you hear something?" Potter asked, blinking after recovering from the Legilimency.

"Not a thing," said Draco smoothly. "Don't worry, though, your Occlumency has definitely improved. Soon you'll be blocking Voldemort _and_ the other voices inside your head!"

"Shove off and get over here," Potter replied.

Snape rolled his eyes again as the snogging recommenced. This time he hastily retreated.

* * *

Another week passed of Snape ignoring the dreadfully unsubtle privacy charms placed around _that_ classroom. Draco had thankfully begun to apply Snape's additional spells as well and so Snape left them alone, confident that even if someone did recognize the charms, they would not be able to break through

Two raps on his door caused Snape to look up from his grading. "Enter," he called, frowning.

A messy head of black hair poked through the door.

Snape raised an eyebrow. "I was under the impression that I told the three of you to meet me tomorrow, not today."

Potter grinned sheepishly in a manner that struck Snape as utterly _James Potter._ The sight did not cause him to tremble with anger and he was once again thankful for Lily's intervention. It was bloody exhausting feeling as if his old school enemy had returned from the dead to haunt him. Whatever witchcraft she'd come up with, it worked; he was reminded that he had yet to research its details.

"You did, sir." Potter tugged at the ends of his sleeves nervously but did not elaborate.

"What are you here for, then?" Snape asked after a moment of silence, his forehead creased as the frown returned when he realized Potter was alone.

"I, er, wanted to discuss a more _personal_ subject with you, if you have the time."

The fuck did that mean?

"Alright," Snape said slowly. "Come with me to my sitting room."

Potter's nervousness abated somewhat and he happily followed Snape as he walked away. Snape huffed a sigh of exasperation—really, the boy was almost puppy-like in his enthusiasm.

"Explain," Snape said as he settled into his favorite armchair.

Potter wiggled merrily on the couch, apparently still delighted that Snape hadn't thrown him out yet. Bizarre. Snape was tempted to check the boy for curse residues.

"Well, first I wanted to let you know that my Occlumency's coming along great!" Potter said excitedly. "Draco's actually not bad at teaching, once you get past the fact that he looks at you like a dirt stain half the time."

"Indeed." Snape raised his eyebrows when he realized that he used to mistake this enthusiasm for arrogance. Truly, Potter wasn't a bad sort; Snape had been monitoring the boy's DA activities and found that the boy often employed his natural leadership to inspire his friends.

"Oh—not that your teaching was _bad_ , sir," Potter hastily added. "I mean, you're both kinda similar in the sense that I'm pretty sure you look at me like a dust mite."

Was Potter feeling okay?

"But, uh, I suppose I just connected more with what he was saying…" Potter trailed off lamely. "Anyway, my point was that I'm a lot better at Occlumency now!"

Snape snorted. _Connected,_ indeed _._ "Potter, if I had known that a little, ah, _positive reinforcement_ was all you needed to improve your Occlumency skills, I would have hoisted you off to Draco a long time ago."

Now Potter was eyeing him suspiciously. Well, at least that was an expression that he was used to seeing on Potter's face.

"Professor Snape, did Draco mention anything about our Occlumency sessions to you?"

"No, Potter." Snape shook his head. He'd be damned if he ended up in the middle of some petty argument between the two boys.

"...Ookay." Potter cleaned his glasses with his shirt and placed them back on his face, staring at Snape with a clear expression. "May I be frank, sir?"

"I suppose." Snape answered noncommittally but tensed in his chair.

"It's just that—well, first of all, I should probably tell you that I'm gay." The boy looked up at him with slight defiance, only to relax when Snape did not react negatively. "And I get the feeling that you know that there's something between me and Draco, and I want to know how you know. And I want to know _why_ you've been going out of your way to help us. And I'm good at Occlumency now so you don't have to worry about Voldemort seeing any of this."

Ah, so that was the crux of the matter. Snape took a deep breath and leaned back in his chair.

"It is true that I have not been entirely forthright with you and your friends due to your connection with the Dark Lord," he murmured pensively, inspecting his calloused hands in his lap as he thought. "Professor Dumbledore is a great man. However, he is also an immensely busy man. Before I go on, I want you to know, Mr. Potter, that Dumbledore truly cares about you and your friends. That is one of the reasons—among others—that I have intervened."

Snape checked Potter's Occlumency shields thoroughly then proceeded to inform him of Draco's task to kill Dumbledore—thankfully, the Dark Lord appeared to be more focused on removing Muggleborns' magic at the moment—and assured Harry that they would find a solution to save Draco from the duty. He told Harry of Lily's words and agreed, reluctantly, to indulge the boy in stories of his mother later on. He even mentioned that, now that he could reflect more objectively on his school days, James Potter was not a complete and utter prat all the time.

At that, Harry's eyes had bugged out. "Wow, Mum's magic must've _really_ worked."

Snape scowled. "He was still a prat, though."

Two hours later, Harry removed his glasses and rubbed his eyes. "So, was that everything then? You know, the past few weeks make a lot more sense now."

Snape rolled his eyes. "I imagine they do. There is one more relevant and urgent matter that I wish to discuss, but it would be easier to do it tomorrow when Weasley and Granger are here as well. Actually, why don't you bring Draco, too?"

"Of course, sir. Er, may I tell Ron and Hermione about what we talked about?"

"You might as well," Snape sighed. It was not ideal, but war generally wasn't. "I also believe that we will have little time to meet in the future—close your mouth, Potter, and let me finish—due to our schedules. I don't mean you specifically, I mean our little group as a whole. I know yourself and Weasley have been occupied with designing drills for the DA, and I am aware that Miss Granger has been focusing on counter curses and her schoolwork has been vastly below her normal standards—yes, I will speak with her. There is simply too much to do and I would prefer to meet all of you separately so that the others could supply an alibi to avoid suspicion."

Snape grimaced, thinking of all the marking he had yet to complete. "Unfortunately, I do not have the time to accommodate separate meetings and so I will contact whoever is most convenient at the time—it could be any four of you—and I expect you to communicate clearly among yourselves. Am I understood? And for the love of Merlin, remember to use privacy charms—especially when you and Draco wander off together."

"You know, you still didn't explain how you know about me and Draco. And Draco said I should ask you about our… relationship." Harry's face acquired a pink tinge but his voice was admirably level.

"He sad that you could give us some insight or something rubbish like that."

"I am merely observant. The only advice that I have for you hormonal demon spawns is to utilize stronger privacy charms."

"Oh, alright. Wait, what's that supposed to mean? Did you see us? Nevermind. It was just—Draco made it sound like um, you might have some experience with this type of thing."

"What the devil—" Snape's eye twitched.

"Look, I never thought I liked boys and then I suddenly find myself attracted to Draco Malfoy, who's always been a bit of a twat to me, let's be honest. He said you might sympathize with my confusion."

"Potter."

"Er, yes, sir?"

"I may like you enough to sit here for hours and converse about the ongoings of the war, and I may even like you enough to share some childhood stories about your mother, but I _do not_ like you enough to discuss _my sex life_ with you and I will not hesitate to throw you out on your arse, truce or no truce." His voice had lowered to a deadly hiss by the end of his tirade. Unfortunately, he did not seem to invoke the same fear in Potter as he used to.

"Listen, you never, well, you and Sirius never got along… Kind of like me and Draco…" Potter persisted.

"WHAT!"

Now Potter was smiling slyly and Snape clenched his fist.

"You see, he mentioned a story about his dad catching you and Sirius once... without clothes…"

"For fu—I _told_ Lucius not to tell anyone!" Realizing that Harry was now openly grinning, Snape looked up at the ceiling and sighed in exasperation. "You didn't want advice, did you? That was clever, almost Slytherin, although I daresay it was all Draco's idea."

"I mean, I wouldn't mind a few words of wisdom if you do have any. Mostly, I just wanted to see your face. So you and Sirius didn't…?"

"Bleeding hell, Harry, absolutely not. It was the very definition of a scrap between an idiotic teenage boy and an utter dog of a gobshite."

Harry's grin widened. "You know, Snape, you're alright."

Snape waved his hand negligently in response. "I believe you've been in Draco's company far too long," he said in mock despair.

Only the Malfoys were capable of somehow conveying their affection for him by driving Snape up the wall. Apparently, Harry could now be included as an honorary Malfoy. What had his life become?

 **A/N:** _Hi, yes, I'm popping up again down here. Hope you enjoyed the chapter! I think I'm gonna pick up the pace in the next few chapters and there'll definitely be some more SS/HG interactiony-things happening, but it'll be a slow burn (if you couldn't tell already) You guys are awesome for sticking with me! 3_


	10. X Concern

**A/N:** _Well, pretty sure this is the longest chapter yet! I hope you enjoy! :) Actually, I came to the revelation yesterday that your reviews and follows and favorites are like catnip to my soul_ — _make what you will out of that_

The second time the four students found themselves situated in Snape's office, it was at a much more reasonable hour. Hermione watched, bewildered, as Snape paced back and forth in front of them; the three boys crammed next to her on the couch wore identical expressions of unease at the sight.

"What's happened?" Draco finally demanded after a few minutes of the muffled sound of boot heels clacking on rug-covered stone.

Snape finally collapsed elegantly into his armchair. Hermione marveled silently at his ability to seem in control even when he was clearly agitated. Even as Snape sprawled himself—one arm up and behind the back of the chair, the other resting on one of his splayed legs—she could sense that the boys were nervous but confident that Snape had a solution. Unfortunately, she was not as assured; she suspected that this was related to whatever Snape had witnessed during his meeting with Voldemort a few weeks back. However, Hermione had refrained from mentioning anything to the boys for fear of their Occlumency not being up to scratch.

"Before I begin, I need to test Weasley and Granger's Occlumency," Snape said quietly. He suddenly straightened properly then leaned forward, elbows resting on his knees and dark eyes boring into each one of them. Hermione met his gaze calmly. "This information _cannot_ go beyond the people in this room. I am only going to discuss the bare minimum with you so that you are informed; anything more could be a great risk."

Hermione was fairly confident in her Occlumency ability now, and she was proud of the progress Ron had made as well; they had practiced together while Harry and Draco had snuck off. Ron had been rather oblivious, or perhaps purposefully ignorant, of the developing relationship between their best friend and the Slytherin, but it was all up in the air now as Harry had come clean to them earlier that day. In addition, he had gone over his talk with Snape that previous night:

"Bloody hell, mate, who woulda saw that coming?!" Ron had exclaimed.

After Snape cast Legilimency on each of them, he nodded to himself. "While I do not believe that any of you have the talent to become particularly useful double spies," he said dryly, "your skills are sufficient, albeit as subtle as the Headmaster's sense of fashion, to protect your thoughts."

"Now," Snape continued, "The Dark Lord has been attempting to find a way to remove a Muggleborn witch or wizard's magic."

Silence pervaded the room at his blunt statement.

"He has also just about taken over the Ministry."

…

To everyone's evident surprise, Hermione was the first to express her horror.

" _Fuck_." Her magic was a part of her. If Voldemort was able to take away her magic...

Snape snorted. "In a word, yes, Granger, I think that about sums it up."

"What can we do?" Harry asked solemnly.

"For the moment? Not much," Snape replied, lips pursed thinly. Hermione knew that was not the answer Harry wanted to hear. "However, I am interested to know if anything noteworthy has transpired amongst your peers."

"Why, Severus," Draco said with a grin, "are you asking us to catch you up with the latest Hogwarts gossip?"

Hermione was impressed that Draco Malfoy, of all people, was the one attempting to lighten the mood. Of course, he was also the one most comfortable speaking his thoughts in Snape's presence without fear of retribution. Snape still shot him a glare at the casual use of his name, though.

"It's funny you ask," Draco prattled on in what she now recognized as his best imitation of Pureblood socialites—Harry enjoyed regaling her and Ron with the blond's stories about Narcissa Malfoy's tea parties. "Pansy and Theo have been dating for a few weeks now. Almost as long as Harry and I have been, actually."

Harry coloured at that but seemed pleased that Draco was willing to discuss their relationship so openly.

"I believe I also heard a rumour of Blaise and Lavender Brown being caught on the third floor by a certain tall, lanky, angry fellow."

Snape rolled his eyes. Hermione felt like he did that a lot in Draco's presence.

"They hadn't even made it to an alcove before losing half their clothes," Snape retorted. "And I don't believe Miss Brown ever retrieved her bra from around the head of one of the knight statues."

Ron couldn't hold back a chortle, and Hermione elbowed him in disgust. On their other side, Harry elbowed Draco far more insistently.

"Something you need to tell me, Draco?" Snape asked, eyebrow raised, as Harry continued to prod at Draco's side.

Draco coughed and glared at his boyfriend. "Not that it's a big deal, but a few of the Slytherins seem to be catching on to the fact that I've been sneaking out of the common room."

"It's only a matter of time until someone somehow finds out," Harry took over. "It's dangerous. Voldemort wouldn't be happy to hear about it."

Snape grimaced and nodded. "You are correct, Harry. What do you propose we do then?"

Hermione narrowed her eyes thoughtfully when Harry straightened at Snape's words. While Harry had initially been willing to listen to Snape simply because there was no other option to discuss Order business with, now he appeared to genuinely value and respect the man's opinion.

 _And_ Snape had called him _Harry_. She was fairly certain that had never happened in the past seven years they'd attended Hogwarts. She was impressed at how well their talk must have progressed to have them speaking so civilly with each other.

"I did have an idea, actually, but I wanted to run it by you first," Harry said, slightly hesitantly. "I was thinking Draco could act like he's befriending me because he knows that he'll get closer to Dumbledore this way—which isn't even really a lie."

Snape traced the outline of his lips pensively. "It could work… I would have to show the Dark Lord my own memories and observations… But along with reports from some of the Slytherins to their parents… Yes, it could work," he murmured, almost as if to himself.

Snape stared intently at Draco, mind apparently made up. "You must manage this very carefully, Draco. Your Occlumency is good, but if the Dark Lord has reason enough to suspect you of something and search, he will easily find his answers in your mind."

"I know," Draco said quietly. "It should be enough to keep him satisfied for now, though."

"Yes, I believe it will. Well done." Dark eyes swept from ice blue to emerald green.

Hermione exchanged a glance with Ron and, though she felt mildly left out of the exchange, she could see that the happy spark in her eyes at Harry's newfound peace of mind was reflected in Ron's gaze.

* * *

"You know, the goblins could've easily ended the second revolution earlier if they hadn't spread their resources so thin by trying to accomplish everything at once…" Ron mumbled under his breath.

Hermione snorted as she fondly watched her red-haired friend painstakingly cover the readings required for their History of Magic essay. While the goblin revolutions would never truly catch his attention, he had taken to honing his strategic ability through analyzing past wars and playing chess against the Room of Requirement.

Meanwhile in the Head Girl's room, Harry was laboring over a five-feet long essay due in Healing the next day.

"Bugger me," he exclaimed. "Good thing you're the designated healer here, Hermione, because I'm pretty sure my patients would be better off being treated by Hagrid's half-brother—there's so many things you need to keep track of!"

Hermione grinned and shook her head ruefully.

Suddenly, Draco burst through her portrait door, hair uncharacteristically in disarray and eyes frantic.

"What's wrong?" Hermione asked immediately, standing to close the door and lead Draco to her couch. She had given him her password in case of an emergency, but they'd agreed that even if he was considered 'friends' with Harry, it would be risky to let people see him frequently cloistered away with the three Gryffindors.

Harry frowned in alarm and hurriedly went to Draco's side, gently prying the crumpled letter from a white-knuckled fist.

"It's from my father." Draco's voice barely rose above a whisper. "Read it."

Harry cleared his throat, not bothering to mask his concern. "Dear, Draco: How is school so far? Your mother hopes you enjoyed the biscuits she sent you last week. Please do inform Severus that he missed our regular dinner together; I expect him to arrive tomorrow with a glorious bouquet of flowers to placate your mother. Yours, L.M." Harry looked up. "I'm sorry, what's the problem here?"

"You don't understand," Draco said insistently. "They don't _have_ a regular dinner time. Every now and then, my mother convinces my father to haul Severus to the manor and force him to socialize with them."

"Your father's worried about something," Hermione stated, catching on. "Something's wrong with Professor Snape."

"Yes, and he must be really worried to contact me about it. This isn't normal at all. Usually he'd Floo into Severus's rooms himself."

"Alright, what should we do?" Harry asked once he overcame his confusion.

"I've got a meeting with him in a bit to continue my healing lessons. I could try and pry it out of him then," Hermione said tentatively.

"Do you reckon it's got something to do with Voldemort's plan to rid Muggleborns of their magic?" Ron, still seated on the floor and surrounded by homework, was deep in thought and apparently brainstorming out loud. "Snape's a Potions Master—maybe Voldemort wants him to make a potion that could do that."

"Weasley," Draco said in a surprised tone, "you may be on to something."

Ron snorted and ignored the blond's teasing. "But why would your father be worried about that? Other than the mass chaos that a potion like that could cause."

"Well, I can't imagine Voldemort would be best pleased if Professor Snape didn't show up with anything notable," Hermione said dryly. "And Snape's your godfather, isn't he, Draco?"

"Severus and my father are good friends," Draco confirmed softly.

"Hang on," Harry interrupted. "First we've got to confirm if what we're thinking of is even right—we best not ought to do anything till Hermione can get a better idea of what's happening."

Hermione grimaced, realizing that they were counting on her questionable-at-best ability to get through to Snape. She couldn't imagine she could talk the man's ear off to ensure his submission.

Ron blinked. "Wow, mate, you almost sound like you've actually thought that through. And here I was thinking I'm the master strategist," he joked.

This time, Harry snorted and ignored the bait. "Snape's an alright bloke—he's been helping us all out well enough, hasn't he? And he's important to Draco, so we've got to go about this right."

"Thank you, Harry," Draco murmured, bestowing a brief kiss on his boyfriend's cheek. Having recovered from his initial panic, Draco straightened imperiously. "Alright, Granger, you're going to need some tips if you're going to get any information from Severus."

* * *

Fiddling nervously with the edge of her skirt, Hermione finally gathered the courage to grab a handful of Floo powder from her mantle. Behind her, Ron was fanning himself exaggeratedly.

"My hero," he pretended to swoon and Hermione would've smacked him upside the head if he was within reach.

"It'll be alright, Hermione," Harry encouraged. "He obviously needs help, and if anyone can make him see reason it's you."

Hermione took in a breath and cast a quick glance at Draco, who was valiantly attempting to hide his worry. She could do this. While this wasn't exactly what she had in mind, hadn't she promised herself that she'd help ease her professor's suffering?

"Well, if you're going to wait for me here, you might as well finish your homework," she said as bossily as she could before floo'ing herself to Snape's quarters.

* * *

Hermione stumbled out of the Floo and almost collided with Snape's armchair. Thankfully, the man sitting in the chair was able to deftly catch her elbow before she could sufficiently bruise herself on the furniture. Whose brilliant interior decorating advice had he followed to have an armchair almost blocking the Floo? Then she realized that he'd probably done it on purpose, just to be difficult.

"Professor," she greeted him sheepishly once she'd regained her bearings.

"Miss Granger," he returned in kind. "I've been debating on how to continue these lessons and have come up with a few options—since you know yourself best, I will allow you to decide which avenue seems the most beneficial to your learning."

She nodded, inwardly pleased that he was treating her more as an equal; for a few nights, she had been irrationally worried that these lessons would be a parody of Harry's Occlumency sessions.

"I've more Pensieve memories that you could view; these would be more demonstrative of counter curse uses than the previous memories I showed you. Alternatively, we could begin some more practical applications using Madame Pomfrey's practice mannequins."

Hermione pursed her lips as she contemplated her options. While it would be helpful to watch memories of counter curses being cast, she was sure that she could just as easily learn the technique from Snape's own instructions. His memories were fascinating and offered a new perspective on her Potions professor, but Hermione was conscious of the sacrifice to his privacy. Even if it was his idea, she didn't think it was right to take advantage of the fact.

"I think the mannequins should be fine," she decided. Then she remembered what Draco had told her and hurried to spit out her rehearsed line before Snape could leave. "We were thinking, sir, that we could also help find a way to protect Muggleborns' magic from whatever Voldemort is planning."

Hermione somehow managed to hold her nerve as she maintained eye contact with the man. She was struck by the contrast between his sharp, glittering eyes and the sallow skin that clung pitifully underneath them. He couldn't be getting much sleep, based on the bags under his eyes.

"It would be best if I did not have to worry about you and your posse being caught in the library with books related to ancient, illegal magic," Snape said, his tone unyielding. "If one of the Death Eaters' children found out and reported it back to Voldemort…"

"We'd stay in the Room of Requirement, sir. If they did see us, they would never know what we were doing. And we've plenty of time, really. Harry is only busy when the DA is in session, and I've not been able to practice much from our counter curses anyway. I mean, Ron's pretty busy learning about strategy but he was never great at research. In any case, it would give us something useful to do, sir."

Snape shook his head. "You would be much more convincing, Miss Granger, if I didn't know that Draco had handfed you every line." He smiled wryly. "It was almost a convincing argument, too, if you hadn't left out Draco. I know you would have included him."

She scowled. She _knew_ she shouldn't have listened to the blond, but he'd been adamant that Snape would be more willing to agree if he thought that Draco wasn't involved.

"Besides, you would not have asked for my permission to do research—which I'm sure you were planning on doing anyway—if you didn't want something from me."

Huffing in annoyance, Hermione abandoned Draco's advice altogether. "Fine, yes, I had plans to do my own research on the subject—you can hardly blame me, though, since I would be directly affected if Voldemort is successful."

Snape inclined his head in acknowledgement.

"Look, we _are_ interested in finding a way to protect Muggleborns—that much was true. But Draco—and the rest of us—are worried that Voldemort's asked you to help with this. We can help," she said earnestly. "You shouldn't have to do this alone."

He stared at her for so long that she began to wonder if he'd fallen asleep with his eyes open.

Her leg bounced impatiently. "If you don't want to tell us any details about whatever is happening, that's fine, but we can do other things. I can mark papers. Anything to lessen your workload."

"I do not require your _services_ , Miss Granger."

Hermione threw her hands up in exasperation and walked over to poke him aggressively in the chest.

"Listen, Snape, you've helped us so much—don't look at me like that, you really have. Harry's finally in better spirits, Ron feels like he's got a purpose, and Draco knows you're protecting him from Voldemort. But you've obviously not been taking care of yourself since you look like a living Inferius!"

"Is that an oxymoron?" Snape asked mildly.

She was so frustrated that she could only growl back. Could the man not accept their help and move on?

Seeming to finally register that Hermione was still jabbing incessantly at his bony chest, Snape grabbed her offending finger.

"Granger," he began softly, almost delicately. If she hadn't witnessed that same tone after seven years in his classroom, she would have thought that she had won. As it was, Hermione tensed and attempted to pull her finger out of his grasp. "What makes you think that I want your help?"

"I don't give a toss if you want it or not, but you clearly need it!" she shouted at him. "Merlin, why are you being so bloody stubborn?" She finally wrenched away from his hold and crossed her arms.

He took a menacing step toward her, his mouth twisted in a snarl. "Granger, I helped you and your infernal friends so that they would not run off and do something incredibly stupid. The whole point was to give you something to do to stay out of trouble, but apparently that was not sufficient since the four of you have decided to shove your sentimental noses WHERE THEY DO NOT BELONG."

"Hey! Where are you going?!" Hermione asked indignantly as Snape stormed away.

"To retrieve your bloody mannequin," he growled. She winced at the force with which he slammed the office door.

"Stubborn effing arsehole," she fumed under her breath, unable to stop herself from pacing as she waited for his return. "Just wait till he gets back…"

The sound of a throat clearing stopped her in her tracks. She glanced around for Snape but found the room unnervingly empty.

Whipping out her wand, Hermione called out nervously, "Who's there?"

"Ah, I do hope I'm not interrupting something. Would you mind terribly bringing Severus over from whatever corner he's sulking in right now? I must discuss a matter that is of the utmost importance, I assure you, madame."

Hermione trodded suspiciously to the fireplace, where she could vaguely make out a familiar-looking head amongst the flames. It almost appeared to be Draco, but that hadn't been Draco's voice…

"Lucius Malfoy?" she asked cautiously. Brilliant. As if one stubborn, mule-headed professor-cum-Death Eater wasn't enough.

A pause. "Hermione Granger?" he asked in surprise. "What the devil are you doing here?"

"I could ask the same of you," she replied stiffly. She may trust Draco, but she was still wary of his father.

"Where is Severus?" He ignored her. "Step aside. I'm coming through."

Bugger. Bugger. Shite. How had everything gone so pear-shaped tonight? She did _not_ want to be alone in a room with Lucius Malfoy. Draco's father or not, she didn't trust him as far as she could throw him.

The elder Malfoy arrived through the Floo much more gracefully than she had. He gazed at her with mild interest.

"Professor Snape stepped out for a minute. He should be back soon," she said politely—or at least, she hoped. It was disconcerting standing in her professor's sitting room with Malfoy Sr. looming above her. Hermione rather wished Draco was with her.

"That's quite alright," Malfoy said as he sat in Snape's armchair. He brushed invisible lint off the arms. "Hmm, this chair is rather worn now, isn't it? Perhaps he needs a replacement for Christmas…"

Hermione didn't deign to respond, instead settling herself across from Malfoy, her wand still in hand. _Well, this is awkward_.

Glittering blue eyes surveyed her more carefully this time and he raised an eyebrow. She tried to distract herself from the unwanted situation by cataloging the behavioral similarities between Snape and Malfoy.

 _A gaze that could freeze Medusa, good eyebrow acrobatics, sits like some kind of royalty, acts like they're better than everyone else…_

She wondered how many traits Snape had picked up from Malfoy, or vice versa.

"You're Harry Potter's friend." Malfoy broke the silence.

"I am."

"And Draco's?" The blunt question caught her off guard.

"Er, yes, I'd like to think so, sir."

Malfoy's mouth quirked up at one side, eerily similar to Snape. Then he threw back his head and laughed and the illusion was gone.

"There's no need for that, my dear. Call me Lucius—or Mr. Malloy if that is too much for you. A friend of Draco's is a friend of mine. Though, may I ask what Severus has done to have you in such a snit?"

Hermione found her previous anger had morphed into petulance. "It may have been related to a certain letter you sent Draco… We just wanted to help," she pouted.

"Ah." Malfoy was looking at her with renewed respect, though she couldn't fathom why, considering she'd just sulked like a child. "That is what I am here for as well, actually."

Hermione considered Malfoy's neutral expression. Well, if she couldn't convince Snape by herself… "Alright, what's your plan?"

Malfoy smiled wickedly and she was struck with another thought that she desperately shoved to the back of her mind.

 _I do not find Draco's dad attractive. I do not find Draco's dad attractive,_ she chanted to herself, almost missing what the man in question was even saying.

"Severus is very proud and _very_ hard-headed," Malfoy began. "But inside, he's as soft as a Hufflepuff—I know that may be difficult to believe, but trust me."

 _I do not find Draco's dad attractive_ — _hang on, trust him?_ She wagered she probably trusted him as far as she could hex him, now. A moderate improvement from throwing him.

"Oddly enough, I gathered that he rather liked you and your uncouth friends." Malfoy smirked winningly to lessen the insult.

Not. Attractive.

"He's probably acting under some misguided attempt to protect you from the horrors of the world. Again—Hufflepuff."

"Then what were you so worried about?" Hermione asked once she recovered her voice.

Before Malfoy could answer, Snape's voice carried from his office.

"Who are you talking to, Granger?" Snape asked, not sounding particularly friendly. Apparently his trek to the Hospital Wing had not cured his foul mood. "Really, I'd have thought you'd moved past the imaginary friend phase—Lucius?"

Snape returned and tossed the mannequin at her, mouth curled down in displeasure. "What is going on here?" he demanded.

Malfoy cast a sideways glance at Hermione and winked in a mischievous manner that reminded her of Draco. Well, now she knew where the younger Malfoy got it from.

"Severus, Severus," he purred. "You've not returned any of my letters _and_ you missed dinner. Narcissa is quite upset with you."

"I've been rather busy, unfortunately. Now if you've nothing useful to say, kindly leave so I can assign Miss Granger a month's worth of detention."

Hermione's eyes widened and she stared beseechingly at Malfoy to help her.

"Now, that's no way to treat a friend," Malfoy protested. "As a matter of fact, I have it on good authority that this information would interest you greatly."

Snape raised an eyebrow challengingly. Hermione fancied that he pulled it off better than Malfoy did.

"It may not be for—young ears," Malfoy said, glancing uncertainly at her.

Snape seemed unconcerned. "She knows. Get on with it, Lucius."

"Very well," Malfoy conceded. "Of course, if you weren't avoiding me and being so bloody difficult, I could have saved you the trouble."

Malfoy seemed to be building steam and Hermione shrinked back as the blond stood abruptly to glare at Snape on level terms. She was reminded that she was unfortunately in the middle of two powerful and angry wizards.

"I wasn't avoiding you," Snape argued sourly.

Malfoy continued as if Snape hadn't spoken. "I didn't convince the Dark Lord to include you in his affairs so that you could get yourself killed! For god's sake, Severus, I thought it was important for you to know but it's hardly worth it if you're going to show up to the Dark Lord empty-handed!"

"Who says I've not come up with anything?" Snape countered, though he slumped with an air of defeat.

"So he _has_ asked you to make a potion!" Hermione interrupted.

"I thought you said she knew?" Lucius questioned, momentarily distracted from his ire.

"Well, it was an educated guess," Hermione confessed. "We could have helped, you know!" she added righteously.

Snape whirled to face her. "It is not your concern!"

Snape looked ready to storm out again, and Hermione pointed her wand at him to stop him. At that, Malfoy intervened.

"Miss Granger, would you give us a moment, please?" he asked smoothly, stepping between Snape and her wand.

Hermione huffed until she realized she'd almost hexed a teacher. _Bugger_. Tears of frustration and anger prickled at her eyes and she wordlessly brushed past Malfoy and Floo'd to her room.

* * *

Hermione stepped back into the familiarity of her room and couldn't help but smile at the sight before her while she wiped her eyes. Harry and Draco had fallen asleep leaning on each other on her couch, and Ron was sprawled across her rug snoring. She didn't have the heart to wake them, so seated herself at her desk and brought her knees to her chest. It wasn't particularly comfortable, but she didn't notice as she contemplated the disaster of her night.

It was so _confusing_! Snape had been the one who had agreed to keep them informed since he did not agree with the Order withholding information from them. He clearly did not include his own troubles in that stipend, the stubborn prat. Could his vehemence truly be borne simply from his pride? Surely there must be a different reason.

But as Hermione sat, unmoving, and the minutes ticked away, she couldn't seem to devise a plausible reason for his behavior.

The fire stirred, and Hermione glanced over to see Snape's face outlined in the flickering flames.

"Miss Granger—ow, bloody hell, Lucius!" He cleared his throat. " _Hermione_ , may I have a word?"

She quickly checked that the boys were still sleeping then disentangled herself from her position at her desk. "Alright," she said warily.

"Come through the Floo, please."

For the second time that night, Hermione stood nervously before her fireplace and took a deep breath.

 **A/N:** _Thanks for reading! I actually had a question for all my wonderful readers: I read an SS/LV fic a little while ago and I can't for the life of me remember what it's called. I remember Snape was not much of a fan of Bellatrix and eventually him and LV were bonded or something? That might be in the sequel, to be honest. But Snape starts having dreams where Voldemort ends up dying in all of them and if anyone can help me I'd greatly appreciate it!_


	11. XI Trials

**A/N:** _Another pretty lengthy chapter for you guys! Thanks again for reading :)_

 _purplehedgehog13: Thanks anyways! :) Glad you enjoyed it!_

 _I did find the fic I was looking for after. I'm just an idiot, apparently, because I was looking for it in the M-rated filter but it was actually T-rated... Anyway, if anyone was interested, it's called The Return of Snape. The sequel, The World of Snape, is M-rated but I believe is incomplete (and, again, wasn't showing up in my search of completed fics because I am a moron with a terrible memory)._

 _-edit-_

 _I had this up last night but fanfiction sent me a weird error page so I'm reuploading the chapter again tonight just in case! Sorry if you get a bunch of notifications! Thanks for sticking with me :)_

* * *

Significantly calmer than when she had left, Snape inclined his head in greeting as Hermione stepped—carefully—through the Floo. Despite her diligence, he found himself catching her elbow with a settling sense of deja vu. This time, though, he hoped that raised voices would be unnecessary.

"You know, I'd be alright coming through your Floo if you moved that armchair a safe distance away. Isn't that a fire hazard, anyway? Oh, and Mr. Malfoy said he wants to replace it."

At her bizarre comment, he cast her a concerned look as he seated her on the couch, only to discern from her expression that she was babbling due to nerves. At that moment, he realized he preferred her as she'd been before—unafraid to speak her mind and to contradict him when few people dared to do so. In addition, he'd promised to protect them, and now he'd most likely scared her off because he was a stubborn git. Thank Merlin Lucius had been around to make him painfully aware of his shortcomings.

He decided to ignore her nervous babble and forge ahead with his apology. He'd never been very good at them to begin with—no need to prolong the pain.

"I'm afraid that I may not have adequately considered your point of view," he offered quietly. "All four of you are old enough to make your own decisions. I would not have approached you if I did not believe you capable of contributing to the war effort. Unfortunately, I underestimated the potency of Molly Weasley Syndrome."

Granger stared at him blankly and he quirked his lips up.

"Also known as being an overprotective, unreasonable harpy," he supplied dryly.

She seemed surprised at the laugh that escaped her, but it seemed enough to clear the air somewhat. "I suppose that's fair, considering what you promised Harry's mum," she conceded. "Although Mrs. Weasley means well."

"I'm sure she does. Of course, I thought I did too. I can appreciate now that it is… rather difficult to objectively view a situation in such tense times."

The forgiving smile she sent him was enough to ease the tension in his neck. In a way, he was lucky that it had been Hermione who had confronted him. He was fairly certain that had it been Harry, even after their mutual understanding, the boy would have held a grudge for at least a few days. Snape refused to even consider the fit that Draco would have thrown, and Weasley would have walked out long ago.

Relieved that no lasting damage had been done, Snape changed the subject. "As a side note, Lucius was quite impressed with you."

He had been slightly concerned upon realizing that Granger had been alone with Lucius for an indeterminate length of time, but she did not show any negative reactions at the mention of his name. Instead, she surprised him by ignoring the compliment completely.

"What did he have to tell you?"

Of course, she'd always been blessed with a one-track mind when it came to reaching her own objectives. Well, he had promised full disclosure…

"First, Miss Granger—"

"Perhaps you might call me Hermione, sir? It might help to separate Order business from school business."

"Very well. However, I must insist that Harry only be told the bare minimum about this. I can spin other affairs to satisfy the Dark Lord's suspicions, but if he were to learn that Potter is aware of the details of this plan, then I doubt I would return alive."

"I understand."

"The Dark Lord did ask me to develop a potion that could, theoretically, remove one's ability to access their magic. I am to bring him some evidence of my progress by the end of the month—"

Hermione's eyes blazed as she interrupted him again. "The end of the _month_?! That's in three days! I can't _believe_ you left it this late to even begin thinking about what you were going to bring. Gods, you're as bad as Harry and Ron!"

Snape stared coolly back, determined not to lose his temper even as her voice steadily rose an octave. And to think, just minutes earlier, he'd missed her fiery spirit. "No need to be insulting," he muttered. Honestly, he'd barely found the time to eat, let alone focus on an extremely complicated and potentially impossible potion.

She took a calming breath and brushed wisps of soft brown hair out of her flushed face. "Sorry, I'm sure you had your reasons for leaving it this late. I know it's not the same as the boys' procrastination."

He sighed. "I found that there were other more pressing matters at the time."

Thinking back on her offer to mark papers, he supposed it wasn't a bad idea; it would make use of her efficiency and keep her busy, at least. Yes, he could convince himself that such an arrangement was mutually beneficial. He resisted the ever-present urge to refuse her help—he'd always been an independent man by nature. Of course, he'd long ago come to terms with his stifling pride.

"You mean you weren't particularly concerned about your own safety. But if Mr. Malfoy was worried, then there had to be something to be worried about." Hermione eyed him shrewdly. He scowled back. Bloody Lucius always involving himself in his affairs.

"Whatever Lucius' personal worries, the situation is now resolved." He brushed off her comments. "Lucius was able to reach one of his old contacts in Bulgaria, who has been working on a base for the potion. It should be enough to satisfy the Dark Lord."

The temporary solution erased her remaining irritation. Still, she appeared ready to scold him.

"From now on, you may grade the first through fourth year papers," he said before Hermione could express her displeasure. "I admit that I have neglected my health these past few weeks—although I am perfectly capable of completing my duties, I do not see how it concerns you or your friends. Nevertheless, if you will return here tomorrow evening, you can attempt to decipher the first years' chicken scratch. Then when you are done we can begin practicing with the mannequin."

* * *

"Ah, Severus! Are you busy?"

Snape exhaled loudly and slowed his stride, bracing himself for the Headmaster to catch up to him. "I _was_ enjoying a nice stroll to the Great Hall for dinner."

"Marvelous, then you won't mind a scenic detour to the Owlery!"

Another sigh. "Albus, I daresay your young legs are quite capable of scaling the extra floors."

Dumbledore beamed at the 'compliment.' Unfortunately, he was not deterred. "That may be, dear boy, but I'm afraid that I must pop down to Minerva's office—I promised her a new scratching post, you see. The elves have been rather disgruntled at the ruined rugs in her rooms. You don't mind sending off this letter for me, do you? Wonderful! I'll see you at dinner, then."

With that, a neatly folded envelope was tucked audaciously into Snape's pocket. Bugger. Snape scowled at the Headmaster's retreating figure.

* * *

Six moving staircases, two crying students, five assigned detentions, and one encounter with Peeves later, Snape arrived at the Owlery in a vicious appearance of billowing black robes. He detected voices near the far window and smirked maliciously, preparing to dole out more detentions. Of course, before he did that, he silently approached the students in the hope of obtaining some blackmail.

"Over there! That's his owl!"

"Are you sure? It looks too small."

"How many snowy owls are there around here? It's gotta be that one!"

"No, really, Pansy, his owl was definitely bigger."

"Ugh, just grab it for now—we'll figure out if it's the right one later. It smells like shit in here."

"No shit. It's a fucking owlery. Gods, if they'd stop moving around so much I could cast a binding spell. Blast, it bit me!"

"It's getting away, you moron!"

"Merlin, forget it. Can't believe he'd care that much about a bloody owl anyway."

Snape stood hidden in the shadows, eyes narrowing as he recognized the voices of two of his Slytherins: Pansy Parkinson and Theodore Nott. A snowy owl? But the only snowy owl he'd ever seen at Hogwarts was… Harry's.

Snape stepped out casually and cleared his throat. The two students jumped and he wanted to roll his eyes at their amateurish attempt at owlnapping.

" _Why_ are you flapping your arms like a pair of nitwits?" he asked disparagingly.

"We were trying to catch Potter's owl, Professor," Parkinson said, as tactless as she was unpleasant.

"Whatever for? It's a ruddy owl."

"That's what I said," Nott muttered.

"Boys," Parkinson sighed dramatically. "You don't get it, do you? Of course, it's not your fault all males are so hopeless with emotions. Potter's a poof though, you see? Of course he'd be upset if something happened to his owl."

Snape marveled at how Parkinson was able to be so offensive by simply speaking her mind. How was it possible for one person to be so inherently _rude_? At least when he insulted people it was on purpose; the horrifying part was that Parkinson truly believed the drivel that was spouting out of her mouth.

"Potter?" he replied, expertly feigning surprise. "And how would you know that?"

"Draco said that's how he's been able to get closer to Potter," she said smugly, as if it had been her plan all along. Snape refrained from rolling his eyes.

"You'd think he'd prefer a way that didn't require him getting so _close_ to Potter," Nott grumbled. "It's embarrassing."

Snape scowled. "There won't be any trouble for Draco—" _and Harry_ "—do you hear me? If I find out that you've been interfering…" He let his voice trail off menacingly.

"Oh no, we would never do that, sir!" Parkinson's voice was saturated with false innocence.

He focused more anger into his glare. "Mr. Malfoy will not be disturbed or distracted from his task. I expect you to pass this message on to the rest of your House. Lay low and do _not_ bring attention to yourselves while Draco is doing this. If I learn that any of the Slytherins have gone against these instructions, you will answer to me. Do I make myself clear?"

Theo nodded solemnly and Pansy shrunk back under Snape's insistent glare.

"Good. Dismissed." He watched his two seventh years hurry away and sighed inaudibly. They were not Death Eater material. Theo was only interested in apprenticing under an Arithmancy Master; Pansy was a brat, certainly, but that was all she was. Snape knew neither were truly arsed about the Dark Lord's beliefs.

Snape was about to leave the Owlery himself when he realized that he hadn't delivered Dumbledore's letter yet. He primly pulled the missive from his pocket, lip curling. It appeared that the Headmaster was sending one last warning to Fudge about the Dark Lord's followers stationed at the Ministry.

He paused, warring with the temptation to read the letter. In the end, though, it hardly mattered what Dumbledore had written—Snape was resigned to the fact that they were too late to preserve Fudge's incompetent reign. Fudge and the Ministry had been the last of their worries, but now Snape wondered if they had been foolish to allow Voldemort such access to the Minister.

The expectant school owl that had arrived in front of him hooted impatiently for the letter.

"Yes, alright, here you go," Snape grumbled, but gently caressed the bird's head. "Away with you."

A flutter of wings signalled the bird's departure. An answering echo of flaps alerted Snape to Hedwig's return. He stared back at the snowy owl's unblinking eyes and frowned in thought.

"Wait here," he ordered the owl. Snape quickly transfigured himself paper and a quill from some stray feathers on the windowsill and began to write.

 _Draco,_

 _Potter's owl has been causing such a ruckus in the Owlery that Pansy and Theo attempted to wrangle the bloody bird. Please inform him to control his wayward owl._

 _S.S._

"Alright, take this to Mr. Malfoy," he told the bird, handing it his hastily scrawled message. "And try to stay out of trouble, hmm?"

* * *

That evening, Dobby popped into Snape's office with the return letter from Draco.

 _Dear Severus,_

 _Don't worry, Hedwig is taking an extended stay around the Forbidden Forest under the watch of the centaurs. I've also been told you had a talk with the Slytherins. Harry says thanks._

 _Cheers,_

 _Draco_

* * *

"Merlin, these are dreadful!"

Snape glanced up from his reading at Hermione's dismayed exclamation.

"I did warn you," was his dry reply. "The first years are the worst, though—they'll get marginally better as you move up the years."

"Gods, okay, I can do this, it's not that bad. First, I need to figure out what this even says. Then I just need to—oh, for the love of—who taught these people how to write?!" she muttered to herself. Snape snorted and turned back to his research.

He was quite pleased with the starting base that Lucius had acquired from Durmstrang's potions master; Lucius had had the foresight to contact the man a few weeks earlier to design a base for a potion that could mimic the effects of a dementor. Snape had to give his old friend some credit—he'd managed to devise a decent cover for a potion that was meant to remove one's ability to reach their magic.

"I trust you're not being lenient with the miscreants?" Snape enquired after Hermione paused to replace her worn down quill.

"Certainly not," she sniffed. "I could not, in good conscience, allow them to think that this standard of writing is worthy of anything more than a D."

He smirked and waved her back to her work. Hermione tucked the out-of-commission quill behind her ear and Snape raised an eyebrow when he noticed the wild disarray of curls on her head. He hadn't realized bog standard essays would send her in such a tizzy.

After the interruption, it took him a few minutes to tune out Hermione's persistent mutterings and movements; she tended to shift restlessly and glare up at the ceiling whenever she encountered a particularly dimwitted sentence. He was so accustomed to working alone in his rooms that any sound she made caused his gaze to flicker toward her. Each movement caught in the corner of his eye dragged his attention away from his own work and, at one point, he sighed in tandem with the other occupant of the room. Luckily, she was so absorbed in her marking that she didn't seem to notice his discomfort.

Eventually, Snape adjusted to her presence and he once again immersed himself in his research. The minutes ticked by, until finally he left his neatly gathered work in a pile and stood up.

"How many have you marked so far?" he asked.

"I'm almost done the first years…" Hermione answered absentmindedly, still furiously scribbling corrections.

He cleared his throat and she paused long enough to glance up at him. He tried to soften his stern expression. "That's enough for one night. I don't think Poppy has realized that I nicked one of her mannequins—best make use of it while we can."

She seemed disappointed that she would be unable to complete the first year papers but then grinned, probably at the notion that he had snuck in and 'borrowed' one of the matron's practice dummies.

"Alright," she acquiesced. "Shall we stay in the sitting room?"

"Certainly." He summoned the unnervingly human-like mannequin. "Now, you're familiar with practicing with these from class."

"Yes, sir. They're a little… off-putting though, to be honest. I hadn't expected them to be so lifelike." Hermione eyed the mannequin with distrust.

Snape chuckled, recalling the wide-eyed expressions of the class when he had first demonstrated the eerily accurate symptoms of dragon pox on the mannequin. "Yes, I imagine many of your classmates feel the same. However, I am not entirely certain of its integrity when faced with dark curses. If we do destroy this model, we'll blame it on Longbottom."

"Professor!" Hermione protested, eyes flashing for a moment before she realized he was baiting her. "You're awful," she grumbled.

He smirked. Too easy. "Tonight, I will show you the skin-peeling curse and its counter curse. The effects of this curse progress slower than other more lethal curses that we will look at later. Of course, as I'm sure you can deduce from the name, it is quite painful—I pity the poor sod that does die from this curse."

Her face screwed up in a moue of disgust, but her eyes remained trained on him as he began the wand movement and incantation. The mannequin's skin did indeed simulate the effects of the curse, and Snape watched her horrified reaction—he'd already seen firsthand how the victim's skin would begin peeling away, exposing muscle and bone.

"I suppose we ought to commend the inventor of these mannequins—it appears to be holding up fairly well," he commented idly.

" _That's_ holding up well?" she asked, eyes still affixed to the gruesome simulation.

"Well, we'll find out how sturdy it is after you cast the counter curse. Move your wand like this, and say _attache pellis_."

Ever a quick study, Hermione followed his instructions perfectly, and the peeled skin slowly uncurled and mended itself back onto the mannequin's body.

"Adequate," he murmured, poking at the reattached skin with his wand. She grimaced but nodded her thanks.

Pain shot up his arm and he bit back a groan, but he was unable to stop her attentive brown eyes from noticing his involuntary flinch.

"Do you need your research notes?" she asked quietly.

He shook his head once the pain subsided. "You may stay and practice a while longer, if you wish. The Floo connection between our rooms will automatically close at curfew though, so be mindful of the time."

"Yes, sir. Be careful."

He summoned his cloak and mask, barely hearing her whispered words behind him.

* * *

Snape Apparated to Malfoy Manor, arriving at the same time as another masked figure.

"Snape." He recognized the rough voice.

"Dolohov."

As the pair ventured into the dining hall, Snape repressed a sense of dread at the tense atmosphere, slinking in to blend with the crowd of gathered Death Eaters. One glance at the Dark Lord confirmed his fear: Voldemort was in a mood. Red eyes darted across the room without a lick of sanity, and a menacing sneer distorted his snake-like features.

"Rookwood." Voldemort's voice rang out. The ensuing silence was ominously heavy. "You are late."

 _Screeech_.

Snape, along with the other Death Eaters, whipped around in disbelief at the noise. A snow white owl battered viciously against its cage. _No_. How had Rookwood captured the bird?

"I apologize, my Lord," Rookwood exclaimed as he threw himself to kneel before the Dark Lord.

" _What is this?"_ Voldemort hissed, eyeing the owl contemptuously. "Nagini's _dinner?_ " Red light shot from the Dark Lord's wand and Rookwood was soon writhing on the hard floor, screams echoing off the walls.

"No, my Lord," Rookwood gasped. "Well, yes, if you wish! It is Potter's owl, my Lord!"

Fuck. Snape discretely grasped his wand and cast the faintest Legilimency spell at Rookwood's back.

Hooves. Screeching. Cracking branches. It wasn't much, but he did not dare risk a full power spell, nor did he expect to garner much more information without direct eye contact.

 _Fuck_. Stepping forward, Snape kneeled respectfully. He forced his tense muscles to relax, though there was nothing he could do to control his fast breathing. "If I may, my Lord?"

The Dark Lord gazed down from his throne chair, fingering his wand deliberately. "Go ahead, Severus."

"Potter's owl died during the summer—killed by his Muggle relatives." A lie. "Dumbledore bought him a new one to replace it, but Potter refuses to to accept the bird; he does not care for it." Lie. "He recently released the bird into the Forbidden Forest."

"So you are saying, Severus, that this bird is of no worth to me?"

Think, think, think. "No, my Lord—it may be useful for potion ingredients." He emphasized 'potion' as much as he dared.

A glimpse of sanity through the red eyes, then nothing. "Look at me, Severusss."

Snape braced himself and met crimson eyes. The Dark Lord entered his mind ruthlessly. Snape quickly brought up evidence of his progress with the potion. He could only pray that the Dark Lord did not look for proof of Hedwig's death.

Thankfully, Voldemort was preoccupied by the details of the potion. He perused those memories at a leisurely pace, then retreated from Snape's mind.

"Rookwood," he spat gleefully, "you appear to be mistaken."

The Death Eater looked up desperately, and Snape stopped breathing as Voldemort entered Rookwood's mind next. He had gambled on the sounds of hooves being from the centaur herd in the Forbidden Forest. If that much was true, Snape was certain that the Dark Lord's unstable mood would accept that as evidence.

"Rookwood, you fool. _Crucio_."

Snape was ashamed to admit that the sounds of Rookwood's screams brought a sigh of relief from him. He had read Voldemort's mood correctly—the Dark Lord was yearning for any excuse to punish someone. Snape was relieved that it hadn't been him. It had been close though.

As Rookwood continued to suffer, Voldemort motioned at Peter Pettigrew. "Kill the bird."

"Wait!" Snape interrupted even while cringing inwardly at his impudence. Gods, he was going to be punished for that. If only Potter wasn't so attached to that bloody owl. "The ingredients will lose their potency, my Lord, if the bird is dead for too long before harvesting." He quickly bowed his head submissively, though he had a feeling that would not save him tonight.

Voldemort abruptly ended the Crucio and turned his attention to Snape. "Everyone out!" he hissed. "Severus, _do not move_."

Gods _fuck_. _How_ had Rookwood captured the owl? Snape shuddered, wondering if he shouldn't have just let the bird die. Was it worth it? The Dark Lord exuded sadistic delight; Snape felt lightheaded at the sight.

"You have pushed your limits tonight, Severus." The Dark Lord spoke softly. "And you did not inform me of the death of Potter's owl. Still… you have done well with the potion. Whatever shall we do with you?" He tapped his leathery chin thoughtfully.

Snape had finally regained control of his breathing, sinking deeper within his Occlumency shields. "Whatever you wish, my Lord. I am yours."

" _Tempting._ Stand up, Severus."

Snape stood cautiously. Had Voldemort grasped onto some sanity? Just as Snape straightened, knees cracking, a jet of red light hit him in the chest and he immediately collapsed back onto the cold floor, gritting his teeth against the piercing pain.

"There's no need to hold back," Voldemort crooned. "They always scream in the end."

Snape bared his teeth in a rictus of pain but refused to cry out. Pride, pride—it was always pride. But he knew that he possessed no dignity in the presence of the Dark Lord.

"Scream for me, Severus. Let it out."

The pain was all-consuming, his mouth open in a silent scream. He had no strength left to scream. He doubted he could even make a sound if he wanted to.

"Well, that is rather disappointing, isn't it? Let's try something new, shall we?" The psychopath seated above him grinned maniacally.

The reprieve from the the Cruciatus was only long enough for Snape to catch enough breath to groan quietly. Another spell hit him in the right arm and he gasped at the uncomfortable, but painless, sensation.

"My Lord?" he questioned raspily.

"I'll see you next week, Severus." The Dark Lord stared at him expectantly, and Snape realized blearily that he was being dismissed.

"Yes, my Lord." Then he rolled his sleeve up in horror and almost retched at the source of his pain, his skin a grisly imitation of the curse he'd showed Hermione earlier that night. Merlin, it felt like a year ago.

He steeled himself against the pain and shakily attempted to stand. The counter curse was on the tip of his tongue, but he knew to attempt it in front of the Dark Lord was suicide. He couldn't Apparate in the state he was in, but if he could make it to Lucius' office and use the Floo…

Snape staggered as the curse spread to his chest. Floo, Floo. He needed to get to the Floo. The damage would be manageable if he could escape the Dark Lord's presence before the curse spread too far over his torso. Gods, but the _pain_.

"Ah, Severus? You seem to be forgetting something."

It took all his willpower to stop his agonizing walk. The _bird_ , the bloody _fucking_ bird. His path veered towards the caged animal, although by the time he reached the damned thing he was practically crawling. Snape panted pitifully and vanished his robe and shirt, unable to stand the fabric rubbing against exposed nerves any longer. He grasped the cage and dragged it along with him, barely summoning the strength to turn the doorknob to Lucius's office.

Silence. Only the comforting crackle of the fireplace broke the quiet, and he could have wept as he grabbed a handful of Floo powder with his good hand. Could animals travel through the Floo? He didn't have time to ponder it, and he found that he didn't much care, as more skin peeled away, both pectoral muscles now exposed. Even within the relatively safe confines of Lucius's office, he suspected Voldemort would know if he cast the counter curse.

"Professor Snape's quarters," he hissed through his teeth, pulling the owl's cage closely to his side and stumbling into the Floo.

In the privacy of his rooms, Snape moaned in agony as he landed harshly on his injured arm, Hedwig's cage tumbling free. He just.. Needed… To find… His wand…

He rolled onto his—so far—unaffected back and breathed loudly through clenched teeth. His wand… Where had it fallen? There—by the armchair, by the bushy throw rug. Wait—he didn't own a throw rug. Hermione? What was she still doing here?

Snape thrashed pathetically as the curse continued its path down the front of his torso. Black spots dotted his vision, and he weakly gave in to the advancing darkness.


	12. XII Compassion

**A/N:** _Before I get into actual relevant matters, I just want to take a minute to gush about a SS/LE fic I finished not too long ago. It's called_ _Obscura Nox Animae_ _and it was AMAZING. Highly recommend._

 _Anyway, what I actually wanted to say is that I've been trying to find a way to reply directly to reviews but I don't think there is one (unless I'm being incredibly dense). So I've decided I'll just reply directly to everyone's reviews here._

 _purplehedgehog13_ _: I_ knew _something was weird about that chapter - fanfic kept giving me weird error pages. Hopefully this chapter comes out without a problem! If not, let me know and I'll get in touch with fanfiction! And yeah, I enjoyed the bushy throw rug too haha I shamelessly based it off of a conversation between Mufasa and Zazu in The Lion King_

 _Thanks for reading:)_

* * *

Hermione couldn't help but pace after Snape's departure. Would the Durmstrang professor's work be enough to placate Voldemort? Snape hadn't seemed worried—not that that meant anything, considering he hadn't been in much of a rush to work on the potion—and he clearly trusted Lucius Malfoy, but it wasn't enough to calm her nerves.

Deciding she might as well channel her nervous energy and be productive, she dug out her quill and resumed her marking. The standard of essay was atrocious, though, and she found the jumbled sentences insufficient at capturing her attention for long. With an exasperated huff—surely they hadn't been that bad when she was in first year—Hermione gingerly grabbed the realistic practice dummy by the hand and dragged it to the carpet in front of Snape's armchair.

Would it be rude to sit in his chair? It looked so _comfy_ compared to the lumpy couch. If she was going to subject herself to the macabre sight of a fake human's peeling skin, she might as well make herself at home. Besides, if she was careful, he'd never know.

* * *

Some time later, Hermione found her attention waning once again—after all, there were only so many times she could witness the same gruesome sight over and over.

However, just as she glanced at the clock and realized that it was almost curfew, the Floo blazed to life. Heavy crashes filled the room and Hermione twisted to peak over the back of the armchair. Her eyes widened as Hedwig's angry hoots announced Snape's arrival.

"Professor? Merlin! What happened? I thought the research was enough!" she said frantically, almost tripping over the mannequin in her rush to reach the unmoving form on the floor.

Gods. The skin-peeling curse was easy to recognize; Snape's wan skin almost resembled that of the practice dummy she'd been using.

"Okay, alright, I can do this. Just like practice," she muttered to herself under her breath. Thankfully, she didn't have to worry about blood loss—the curse appeared to cauterize the wounds that it created, leaving raw bone and muscle. Hermione hardly remembered casting the counter curse, even after Occluding as best she could to calm herself.

She watched in immense relief as Snape's skin began to mend, her hands shaking beside her. Thank _Merlin_ that he hadn't been afflicted by some other curse. Really, it was almost Felix Felicis lucky that it had been the skin-peeling curse. Perhaps the gods were watching over them after all.

Whoever had designed the counter curse had done a damned good job, too, she mused—the reattached skin looked identical to Snape's normal skin.

An indignant screech alerted Hermione to the fact that she'd completely forgotten about Hedwig. Gasping, she quickly freed the poor bird, whose yellow eyes stared at her balefully.

"Sorry," she whispered guiltily, then crossed her arms defiantly. "Although you can hardly blame me," she added. "I had to help Professor Snape first, didn't I?"

Hedwig's answering hoot somehow managed to sound put-upon and Hermione shook her head.

"Well, I can't just let you fly through the dungeons. I suppose if you'd like another Floo trip to my quarters—oh, no! The Floo connection must be closed by now," Hermione realized in dismay. She sighed dejectedly but decided to worry about that later. First she ought to help Snape rest somewhere more comfortable.

But as she debated between physically moving him or levitating him—which would harm his healing progress more?—she noticed small but frequent tremors traveling down his body. Almost as if by a switch, the tremors became more severe and she hastily moved anything he might hit.

"Oh, _bugger_." She'd been certain she'd cast the counter curse right! And the skin was healing so nicely… If she didn't know better, she'd almost say it looked like a weaker version of the Crucia—oh. That must be it! But how could she treat aftershocks of the torture curse?

Hermione watched Snape's seizing body with a pained expression. She could clearly see each muscle in his torso contracting violently, drawing a sympathetic moan from her.

She'd contact Madame Pomfrey—if she could just find a way to get around Snape without being caught by a flailing limb. Pulling out her wand, she opened her mouth to place him in a full-body bind, only to immediately shut it as dazed black eyes scanned the room.

"Oh, you're awake!" Argument with Hedwig forgotten, Hermione knelt by Snape's side. "I healed your skin but you've been having convulsions, although they seem to have stopped now."

Snape grunted in reply. Hermione hurriedly pushed down on his bare shoulder as he attempted to sit up.

As soon as he stopped struggling, she quickly pulled her hand away. She'd been so preoccupied with healing him before that she hadn't paid any attention to his state of undress. Now that he was awake, with his dark eyes watching her intently, she could feel her face heating up.

"Don't try to get up—you need to rest," she scolded. "I was thinking of moving you to a bed, maybe. You certainly can't stay here."

Another grunt. Then, "Levitate me." Even when lying half naked on the floor, he still managed to sound commanding. "End of the hall. On the right."

"Alright," she said, tearing her eyes away from his intense gaze. Was it normal to be so alert after being tortured? Although, to be fair, he did appear to be completely physically healed. She worried that the tremors would start again though. Hopefully, if they did return, they'd be more bearable on the bed's softer surface.

Opening the door to Snape's bedroom, she pulled back the sheets and levitated him carefully onto the bed. It didn't look particularly comfortable, to be honest—he still had on his trousers and shoes. She didn't dare question him about it though.

"Should I get Madame Pomfrey?" she asked instead.

The glare levelled her way was enough of an answer.

"But what if the tremors come back?" Hermione insisted. "I'm hardly a fully trained Healer, and the only reason you're doing okay right now is because you were somehow hit with the one counter curse that I've practiced!"

Visibly gathering his strength, Snape said, "There's nothing that can be done about the tremors except for waiting them out."

Well, that was promising—he'd moved up to full sentences now, which was perhaps the only reason she backed down from her stance.

"How are you feeling otherwise, then?"

"Exhausted," he complained. "Sore. Not bad, though—you performed the counter curse well." Snape closed his eyes.

She frowned down at him.

One black eye opened. "What are you looking at?"

"Sorry, it almost sounded like that was a compliment. You must still be in pain, poor thing—I think you're delirious. I'd better fetch you a pain reliever."

His lips quirked up and Hermione felt inordinately pleased with herself.

"In the drawer of my nightstand, you wretched witch."

Deciding not to contemplate why there were so many pain reliever potions in his drawer, she handed a vial to him; he'd summoned enough strength to sit halfway up.

"Can I help you with anything else, sir?"

He set the vial onto the nightstand and sunk back down in the bed, eyes closing once more. "You can stop being a pest and let me rest."

Rolling her eyes, Hermione was struck with with an inane urge to tuck him in. Maybe it was because of her relief that he was okay after the acute stress of the evening's events, but she pulled the sheets back up over him and tucked them in around his shoulders. Satisfied, she gave him a friendly pat on the chest. He was half asleep anyway—she doubted he'd remember when he woke up.

"We'll discuss the liberties you're taking later," he said without opening his eyes. "20 points from Gryffindor."

She grinned to herself, thinking that it had certainly been worth the 20 points. Then she recalled her predicament and stared crossly at the gaunt face in front of her. "And just what exactly am I supposed to do now? I can hardly waltz out into the dungeons—" It'd be dangerous, not to mention incredibly improper if anyone saw her. "—and you blocked the ruddy Floo!"

Snape brought an arm up to cover his eyes. "You'll figure something out," he mumbled as he rolled to his side.

Hermione scowled at his back. Some help he was. Not to mention he'd already managed to tangle himself up in the sheets she'd so kindly tucked in.

* * *

"'You'll figure something out,'" she mimicked under her breath, transfiguring a cushion into a blanket. She sighed in defeat when she stared apprehensively at the couch; she was sure she didn't have the concentration to spare to transfigure it into something resembling a bed.

Hermione grabbed another cushion to use as a pillow and exhaled loudly. "Goodnight, Hedwig."

 _Screeech_.

* * *

"I hadn't realized I owned a zoo. Hullo, there, you troublesome creature. Ow, stop biting me! Merlin's arse. Your wings are heavy—kindly cease beating me with them! I saved you—I can turn you into a pillow if I bloody well want to!"

Hermione was awakened in the morning by a violent fluttering of wings and angrily spewed threats. She sat up, blinking blearily at the sight of Hedwig's rapidly flapping wings hitting Snape in the head. He was fully dressed in his teaching attire now, and she almost wondered if she'd imagined the previous night.

"Owls don't belong in zoos," she commented groggily.

At the sound of her voice, Hedwig flew over to perch on her shoulder. Snape glared at the pair of them in disgust.

"Yes, well, I believe I've seen a good few scraggly lions at the London zoo." He stared pointedly at her bedhead.

She scowled; she was well aware that her hair was a disaster in the morning. Hedwig swooped at Snape again, causing the man to fling his arms up to shield his face.

"Bloody hell, I knew you weren't worth the effort!"

"You know," Hermione said dryly, "I think she was trying to thank you before, but now you've just offended her."

He snorted. 'She wouldn't be the first one. What are you still doing here, anyway?" Snape peered at her suspiciously. He was much less intimidating when she was still tired and cranky.

"Well, since you blocked the Floo and told me to 'figure something out,' I did the best I could."

"I did say that, didn't I?" he mused, utterly unrepentant.

She didn't deign to answer that. "If you'd reopen the Floo, please."

"Fine, there you go. Do see yourself out."

Hermione gathered her wand and transfigured blanket—she figured she'd bloody well earned it—and Hedwig followed her obediently. Just as she was about to leave, Snape cleared his throat and gently touched her upper arm.

"I do—appreciate—your actions last night, Miss Granger. Let's put that incident behind us though, hm?"

She met his eyes and recalled the heat of his solid chest warming the blanket under her palm. She nodded in agreement. Yes, best not to dwell on that thought.

With Hedwig tucked snuggly under one arm, Hermione flooed back to her rooms.

* * *

"Well, Hedwig," she said as she carried the owl to her window, "I hope that's the last time you have to travel by Floo. Be careful now, alright?"

Hedwig hooted gratefully before taking off. Hermione shook her head, belatedly realizing that she hadn't asked Snape how he'd ended up flooing back from a Death Eater meeting with Harry's owl—although she could hazard a guess about how he'd ended up in his injured state.

Loud, persistent knocking at her bedroom door startled her out of her thoughts.

"Hermione Granger! If you don't answer right bloody now then I'm coming in, whether you like it or not!" Harry's voice bellowed.

She smiled fondly in exasperation and wrenched the door open before Harry could inflict serious damage upon the wood or his knuckles.

Fist poised to pound harder at the door, Harry froze midway. "Merlin, what happened, Hermione? We waited up for hours!" he said after he'd recovered from his initial surprise.

She glanced out at her sitting room and was greeted with blond and red hair. She immediately felt contrite at their worried expressions.

"Sorry, I'm fine, really! I stayed late to heal Professor Snape—he's alright," she added hastily as Draco opened his mouth. "The Death Eaters got Hedwig, somehow, but she's fine too. Snape came back with her, and I just let her out through my window."

Harry looked troubled. "Did Snape get in trouble because he tried to save Hedwig?"

"I don't know the details, but it's likely," she admitted. "But he's fully mended now, so you needn't worry yourself."

"How can I not worry when everyone I care about puts themselves in danger to help me?" Harry almost yelled.

 _Oh, no_. Not again. She cast a desperate look at Ron, who was preparing himself to repeat the same conversation that they'd had over the past year.

Draco calmly wrapped his arms around Harry and mouthed, "I've got it."

"Ah, I don't know about you, Hermione, but I'm starving. Let's go grab a bite of breakfast and you can help me finish my History of Magic essay?" Ron suggested. "I fell asleep halfway through it last night."

"Sure, Ron." Hermione was impressed at his improv. She struggled to find a reason for Draco and Harry to have some time alone. "Er, Draco, you might want to send a letter to your father to let him know Snape's alright."

Ron raised an eyebrow and she shrugged. It was a guess but it would do, judging by the approving look on Draco's face.

"Good idea. Harry, be a dear and scrounge up some paper for me, will you?"

Although Harry continued to mutter agitatedly under his breath, he complied and dug around in his schoolbag.

"Right, well, let's go ahead then, shall we?" Ron said, grinning ruefully. "I _am_ pretty hungry over here."

Hermione rolled her eyes, realizing that there probably hadn't been much improvisation on Ron's part after all.

* * *

After breakfast, Hermione tutted as she and Ron made their way back up to her rooms. "I can't believe they missed breakfast! Honestly, they're lucky they had a study period!"

"Relax, Hermione." Ron chuckled. "I'm sure they would've come down if we did have classes. Harry just needs to relieve some tension sometimes."

She eyed him with a mix of speculation and disgust. "What's that supposed to mean, Ronald?"

"What? Oh, Merlin, I didn't mean like that! You _know_ Harry tends to stress himself out about things—I just meant he needs to stop worrying so much all the time. It's not healthy."

She snorted. "Nevermind. I know what you mean. Besides, Harry wouldn't do that to my poor furniture."

And yet, as they entered her quarters together, she was presented with a furiously blushing Harry Potter and a smug Draco Malfoy. The blond winked salaciously. The resemblance to Lucius Malfoy would have stunned her if she wasn't already shocked at the sight before her.

Hermione gaped unbecomingly. "Tell me you didn't."

"We didn't!" Harry squeaked out entirely too quickly.

"No, wait—I need to know if I need to burn my couch."

"Oh, don't be a prude—it wasn't that messy, anyway," Draco scoffed.

Ron glanced at his still blushing best friend, then glanced at his irate other best friend, and came to an easy decision. "Well, I'm gonna go finish that essay now," he announced loudly and quickly departed.

Draco smirked. "You lot are much too gullible."

Hermione took a few calming breaths. "So you didn't…?"

"Of course not! No offense, but your couch is hardly the height of luxury."

"I'm so glad that that was your only reason for not defiling my couch," she replied dryly.

"Now, your bed, on the other hand…" Blond eyebrows waggled mischievously at her.

"I give up," Hermione groaned, throwing her hands up in defeat. "You can stay here as long as you preserve the integrity of my furniture. Don't bother getting up—I'll see myself out."


	13. XII Sparks

**A/N:** _You know, I'm realizing now that roman numerals are a terrible way to keep track of chapters now that we're getting into higher numbers. To be honest, I hadn't expected to get so far and there's gonna be a lot more chapters after this one. Oh well, too late to change it now lol_

 _purplehedgehog13:_ _Hehe, I liked the zoo in the dungeons part too. Draco'd probably be some kind of albino reptile..._

 _KnowInsight:_ _I do too! It's one of my favorite things in Snape fics. And Draco's certainly an influence hahah_

 _ACupples:_ _Draco's a lil shit but we all still love him hehe_

 _Thanks for reading! :)_

* * *

Snape settled himself in his armchair after a long day of teaching, carelessly throwing his cloak over the couch. He summoned his research notes and a bottle of Firewhiskey. Yes, nothing like contemplating the psychology of removing one's magical ability with an endless pit of despair to relax in the evening. Wonderful.

Before he could ruminate further on the joys of serving a megalomaniac—his joints were still stiff and his muscles ached terribly—three sharp knocks sounded at his office door.

"Professor, I'm here for my detention," Hermione's voice called out as Snape entered his office. He waved the door open.

As soon as she closed the door behind her and his wards enclosed the room, he frowned at her. "What the devil are you talking about? I didn't assign you a detention."

"Sorry, sir, I just needed an excuse in case anyone saw me coming down here," she said matter-of-factly.

He raised an eyebrow at her tone. It reminded him suspiciously of Minerva McGonagall before the elderly witch launched into a rant in her Scottish brogue. Had he said something to offend her last night? Well, of course he had, but she hadn't seemed angry at the time...

In an attempt to distract her from her bubbling outrage, he dryly asked, "Has Dobby taken a holiday?"

"What?" Hermione asked, temporarily flummoxed. Snape allowed himself a mental pat on the back.

"You could not have had Dobby inform me to open the Floo for you?" Snape elaborated in exasperation. Unfortunately, something he said must have triggered her original anger again.

"Well, that was the issue, wasn't it?!"

He knew an irate witch when he saw one; he also knew when to keep his gob shut in the interest of self-preservation.

"I've not been able to get in my rooms the whole day!" Her arms waved around like a demented Whomping Willow. "And I haven't been able to question Harry or Draco about it—I haven't been able to find them between classes. I know school isn't the highest priority right now, but they better not make this a regular occurrence! I swear to Merlin, Malfoys are more trouble than they're worth. The nerve of that prat!"

Well, that was a sentiment he could whole-heartedly agree with. "While I do sympathize with you, may I ask what exactly it is that Draco has done?"

Her Whomping Willow impression continued. Snape had to bit his lip to withhold a smirk.

"Harry was in a snit, so I let them stay in my rooms to calm him down, then Ron and I went to breakfast. They missed breakfast—the irresponsible twits!—and when we came back, Draco was acting like they'd _done the deed_ on my couch!"

He cringed at that.

"THEN I left again and came back to check on them a few hours later, and Draco had somehow convinced my portrait to lock me out! Of my own rooms!"

"Malfoys are incredibly adept at blackmail," Snape commented with a sympathetic nod, although privately he was rather amused by her predicament.

Hermione narrowed her eyes at him, probably wondering if he was making fun of her, but seemed to accept his remark; she nodded emphatically.

"So I found Ron and told him what was happening, but he couldn't get in either, and eventually he got rather fed up with my complaining, I suppose…" She trailed off sheepishly, realizing that she'd been flailing her arms around dramatically in her professor's office.

Snape raised an eyebrow. "So you came _here_?"

"Well, _yes_."

He stared at her blankly. There was no denying the girl was smart but, Merlin help him, her thought processes were utterly baffling at times. At least there was no questioning her motives, though—at this point, he was quite certain that she literally blurted out whatever was on her mind. That was the only explanation for her inane comments.

"Er, anyway, I was hoping I could perhaps use your Floo to access my quarters? There's no way Draco would be able to block that off. It's almost dinner and I _still_ haven't found them."

Ah, so there was an ulterior motive. Granted, she'd negated the 'ulterior' part almost immediately. How was it possible to be _so_ upfront?

"Perhaps you should calm down first," he suggested mildly, rather disturbed at the glint in her eye. Her wild curls did nothing to allay his fear, either.

"I am perfectly calm!"

Resisting the urge to roll his eyes, he decided to draw upon his classroom persona. He was almost legitimately concerned about Draco's health if Hermione were to stumble upon him anytime soon. "Miss Granger!" he barked.

To his satisfaction, she jumped and stood at attention.

"Follow me." He led them back to his sitting room. "Sit. Tea?"

"Erm, sure, professor."

"Good. You will drink your tea until you are rational enough so that my godson's limbs will remain attached when you return to your rooms and undo whatever it is that he's done. Understood?"

"Yes, sir!"

"Meanwhile, I am going to work on my research—do not disturb me."

"Oh, can I help?" she pleaded, careful not to jostle her freshly poured cup of tea as she vibrated in excitement at the prospect of rummaging through his notes.

"What part of ' _do not disturb me_ ' was unclear, girl?" he growled. Perhaps he should just set her free on Draco—at least then she'd be out of his hair. He made a mental note that next time Hermione was on the verge of a conniption, he should distract her with books.

"Oh, come off it," she scoffed.

"Excuse me?"

"You obviously believe I'm competent enough, otherwise you wouldn't have trusted me to learn counter curses. And, no offense, but you lost your ability to scare me when you came out of the Floo shirtless and accompanied by Harry's owl—well, I _was_ scared out of my mind with worry, but I don't think that's what you were going for here." She smiled wryly at him.

Snape scowled. Ever since his visions with Lily, he'd found his relationships with the Gryffindor trio gradually shifting away from that of a normal student and teacher. It was to be expected to some degree, since they were all so heavily involved in the war, but he had planned on simply watching over them from a distance. Snape realized now that that had been a foolhardy hope—time was not a luxury, and he could not allocate the resources to follow the Gryffindors' every move. At least this way they should trust him enough to come to him with any problems.

He wasn't terribly pleased that his free time and his privacy had apparently dwindled to the size of Voldemort's nose, though.

"I thought we agreed not to mention last night," he said tersely. Her blatant worry for him set his teeth on edge—it was incredibly unsettling. He'd been too entrenched in his pain to notice it during the event.

"Well, technically you said to put it behind us—nothing about never speaking about it again. I won't mention it to anyone else, though." The cheeky witch had the gall to grin at him.

Gods. He'd never registered how much of a menace Hermione bloody Granger was. In class, she'd been an insufferable know-it-all; at Grimmauld Place, she'd blended in with her friends and addressed the adults respectfully. Now, one-on-one, Snape felt an odd sense of admiration for Harry and Ron—if this was how she treated them for seven years, he was bloody impressed that they hadn't spontaneously combusted yet. The girl was an absolute force of nature, even if her behavior was occasionally slightly Whomping Willow-like.

Sudden inspiration struck him. "I have a different subject for you to research."

She raised a questioning eyebrow—an unusual action that he'd never witnessed from her. Had she learned it from Lucius?

"The magic that Lily invoked. I'm uncertain if there's much related content in the Hogwarts library, but you may make use of my collection as well."

Hermione seemed to take exception at what he said, and he wondered at how her disapproving light brown eyes could glare at him with such unrestrained judgment. He found himself forgetting that she was a student—only Poppy tended to accost him with that same glare when he was being a particularly recalcitrant patient.

"It's been more than a month and you never bothered to look into the details of some unknown magic that's been used on you?" she asked, standing up and putting her hands on her hips.

Snape couldn't prevent his lips from twitching. Again—a bloody menace. "I was rather busy," he said pointedly.

"Right." Hermione grimaced apologetically at the reminder of his less than ideal lifestyle.

"Indeed. Will you do it?"

"Of course! So Harry's mum came to you in a vision and said she'd protect your soul in return for helping us. Did I get that right? Harry's awful at explaining things, to be honest. And he was so excited when he told us that he wasn't making _any_ sense."

"You've got the gist of it." No need to mention that he'd been foolishly in love with Lily for longer than he cared to admit.

"Great!" She beamed. "I'll see you later, then!"

Hermione took off out the door, leaving Snape standing alone in his sitting room. He blinked in disbelief.

* * *

Hermione returned to his office after dinner, arms full of pages of notes.

"Bloody hell, girl, this isn't a NEWT exam," he grumbled but allowed her to push her way through to the sitting room. "Did you even _eat_?"

She waved her hand negligently. "I'll eat later. Look at this! I've found a few possibilities, but there are a few variables that I wasn't sure of the details so I couldn't reach a definite conclusion. I made a list of all the ones I found—here, take it."

Snape bent over the notes scattered across the coffee table and she shoved a neatly folded scroll into his chin. His scowl went unnoticed by his research-engrossed companion, so he grudgingly took the scroll.

"Some of these don't even have names," he noted with a frown.

"Those were based off of anecdotal events," she replied absently, flipping through some more pages.

"And you believe that they're reliable?" He raised a scathing eyebrow.

"Well, believe it or not, there wasn't much effort put into officially documenting magic that may or may not occur when someone has visions of a dead person. Just look for anything that sounds comparable to what happened to you." Her bossy tone irked him.

"Yes, mother," he mocked, skimming down the paper.

At that, Hermione finally paused her fervent reading. She frowned apologetically. "Sorry. That's usually how I get Harry and Ron to read—but I know you're, ah…"

"Capable? Competent?" he supplied helpfully. "A grown man able to make his own decisions?"

She stared at him, a thoughtful expression on her face. He glared at her impertinence but she was oblivious as her eyes trailed down to focus on his chest. Snape was sorely tempted to use Legilimency on her. Or to hex her.

"Yes, I suppose you are," she murmured quietly, as if to herself.

What the devil was going on? He'd clearly lost control of his life. Clearing his throat, Snape opted to ignore her comment. "Perhaps you should eat while I look over what you've found."

"What? Oh, yes, of course." Soft brown eyes gazed at him expectantly.

Settling into his armchair to read, Snape glared over at her. "What are you still doing here? Go eat, for Merlin's sake."

This time, she obediently called Dobby and ordered some food.

"I didn't mean _here_ ," he bit out impatiently. He'd never be able to concentrate on such a personal subject when his peripheral vision was occupied by her infuriating hair.

"They're not serving in the Great Hall anymore—dinner ended more than an hour ago. Where else am I supposed to go? Besides, I never get to look over research with someone who can actually provide some interesting insight."

Her argument was irritatingly rational, but that was the problem—he was reluctant to share his thoughts about the soul magic because he _knew_ it would dredge awkward personal questions.

"Fine," he said shortly.

Hermione appeared taken aback at his tone. "I can leave if my presence is that undesirable."

She sounded hurt. He couldn't imagine why, though he couldn't summon the strength to kick her out, either—she had done him a great favor, after all.

"Eat," he commanded. He tore his eyes away from her pleased answering smile, turning his attention back to her notes. _What an odd witch_.

As he skimmed her neat writing, he pondered the girl eating quietly across from him. Her brilliance and drive rivalled that of any of his Slytherin students—rivalled that of many of them combined, even—and yet, she continuously and willingly offered her abilities to aid her friends without seeking reciprocation. She hadn't even demanded anything of _him_ after she'd saved him from a painful night convulsing on the floor.

Was she always this magnanimous? No, she'd certainly proved capable of exacting revenge when necessary—Umbridge's fate with the centaurs was a prime example of that. Snape had an inkling that Draco would experience a milder version of Hermione's ire after the stunt he'd pulled today.

As the letters began blurring out of focus in his vision, Snape found himself glancing up to meet light brown eyes that widened briefly. Hermione quickly averted her gaze, an enchanting blush colouring her cheeks. He blinked slowly. Curious.

"Have you finished your dinner?" he asked softly over the crackling of the fireplace.

She nodded, vanishing her plate and cutlery. "Have you found anything relevant?" she questioned just as softly.

Snape cast a fleeting look at the paper. There had been one probable match—an autobiographical retelling of Donald Humphrey's encounter with his dead ex-wife, who had urged him to find love elsewhere while also learning to care for the children borne from her second marriage. No, definitely not something to share with Hermione.

"There are a few possibilities," he answered noncommittally. She waited expectantly, but he did not elaborate.

"Such as…?" she finally prompted after a few minutes of him ignoring her, a slight scowl creeping over her face.

He shrugged. "I'll need more time to narrow it down. In any case, it's getting late—you should return to your rooms now, I think."

Hermione frowned. He was struck with the distinct feeling that she was upset with him, although she only nodded her acquiescence. Ah, bugger. She was certainly a useful ally, not to mention one of Harry's best friends. Beyond that, if she shared her disquiet with Draco and word of it reached Lucius, he'd receive another lecture.

 _And_ he'd never be graced with her mysterious blush, or learn the reason behind it—it was undoubtedly a sweeter sight than the angry full-face flush that he'd witnessed numerous times over the years, although he had to admit that her fury often provided him with a source of amusement. At least, when it wasn't aimed at him.

"Thank you for your work, Hermione," he said in the most conciliatory tone that his pride would allow. "But I believe that this is something I must contemplate on my own."

Her brow furrowed for a second. "Oh, yes, of course," she gasped in realization. "I'm so sorry—I'm sure it was a shock when it happened. It must've been terribly overwhelming."

Well, that wasn't quite the word he'd use, but he'd let her believe that.

"Indeed. Here, I've opened the Floo for you. Have a good night," he added politely and was rewarded by her beaming smile. Merlin, if that was all it took to keep her happy, he should have pledged his allegiance to her instead of Dumbledore or the Dark Lord.

Before he allowed himself to have an existential crisis, though, he needed to speak with Draco and Harry.

* * *

"Well, what do you have to say for yourselves?" Snape intoned gravely at the two boys seated on his couch.

"Uncle Sev, stop, please! We used protection and were very careful. Honest! How did you even _know_?"

"Merlin's tits, Draco," Snape groaned in realization when he glanced at Harry's tomato red face. "That was _not_ what I summoned you for and that is _not_ what I want to hear."

"You'd rather hear we didn't use protection?" Harry asked with a brash grin, apparently able to overcome his embarrassment in favour of annoying Snape. Typical. Some things never bloody changed. Snape closed his eyes and resisted the urge to smack himself in the face.

"No, I'd rather we cease this conversation immediately. While I am relieved to hear that you are being safe—Merlin knows where Draco's been—"

"Hey!"

"—I'm more interested in knowing how you managed to convince Hermione's portrait to lock her out."

Draco rolled his eyes. "Don't be ridiculous. Just tell us why we're really here."

Snape sent a true glare toward the blond. "I'm serious, Draco. How did you do it?"

"Professor, Draco was with me the whole day—he didn't do it." Harry vouched for his boyfriend with a troubled expression. "We haven't seen Hermione since the morning, except in class. Draco and I were, uh, otherwise engaged after class."

Snape stood abruptly and the two younger males jumped to their feet as well.

"Neither of you had anything to do with this? What about Weasley?"

"I doubt Ron had anything to do with it. Where is Hermione, sir? Is she okay—"

But Snape was already grabbing a handful of Floo powder. Harry quickly moved after him, only to stutter to a stop at Snape's intense glare.

"You two—stay put."

"But Herm—"

" _No_. If something has happened—which we do not know for sure—then I can't have you being seen flooing from my quarters like this."

Harry pouted miserably.

"It's odd but, really, I'm sure she's fine, Harry," Draco tried to soothe the restless boy. "I don't think any Death Eaters know how to even do that. The only person who should, theoretically, be able to control the portraits is Dumbledore."

Snape froze. He'd forgotten to see Dumbledore about the Death Eater meeting. "Fuck."

Both boys frowned worriedly at him.

"Hermione is fine," Snape sighed tiredly. "The Headmaster is just meddling. I believe this is his way of reminding me to see him about last night's Death Eater meeting."

Harry's head snapped up. "Oh! I never thanked you for saving Hedwig," he exclaimed.

Snape eyed the boy warily, muscles tensing as the boy stepped forward as if to hug him. At Snape's expression, Harry seemed to regain control and instead settled for grabbing gratefully at Draco's arm.

"It was nothing. Might I suggest, however, that you send her away from Hogwarts for the time being? It wouldn't do for people to notice that you'd acquired another identical replacement."

"That's a good idea. And how are you feeling, Severus?" Draco interjected, studying him with sharp blue eyes.

Snape rolled his eyes. "Stop looking at me like that—I am quite alright. Now, I'm going to bring Miss Granger to the Headmaster to sort this out. I trust you can see yourselves out?" Recalling what Hermione had been complaining about in his office in the first place, he fixed them with a stern glare. "And if you try anything on _my_ furniture, you'll have detention with Filch for the rest of the year."


	14. XIV Building

**A/N:** _So sorry it took so long to get this up! D: Life is picking up and I've been aiming/praying to do weekly-ish updates from now on (certainly not as long of a break as when school was in session). I've also recently been told about the Quidditch League Fanfiction Competition (check it out on the forums!) and I've been thinking it'd be super cool to do. It would, however, probably slow my updates - but I'd still be going for a new chapter every one or two weeks hopefully!_

 _I started this fic as a fun way to let the writing juices flow, and obviously I'm still having lots of fun with it, but this competition would be a great way to improve my writing so you guys get better content too! I've been seriously impressed with the number of people that actually care enough to read my stuff, tbh, and I wanna make it good for y'all 'cause I know I'm only just learning! :)_

 _So, anyway, here's the abridged version: updates gonna be slower, but at least they still gonna exist. Tryin to make my writing better for the good of us all :D Thanks so much for reading!_

* * *

Wide-eyed, Hermione tried valiantly to ignore Dumbledore's piercing blue gaze as Snape dragged her into the Headmaster's office.

"There was no need to meddle with the girl's portrait," Snape said without preamble.

"Ah, Severus, Miss Granger. Splendid to see you!" said Dumbledore cheerily. "My apologies, dear, I hope it didn't inconvenience you too much—merely an experiment, you understand."

Well, it had certainly been an inconvenience. She felt guilty for believing that Draco masterminded the prank, but her heart warmed at the thought that Snape had cared enough to interrogate his godson about it. That was what she liked to imagine, anyway—perhaps Snape had actually been hoping to gleefully revel in the source of her suffering. Even with part of his motives explained by Harry's mum's soul magic, the man was still bloody confusing.

Like right now, for instance. His angular features were shaped into an oddly stubborn but contrite combination and his tongue wet his pursed lips in a rare nervous gesture. She reckoned only Dumbledore was gifted with such an expression on a regular basis. She also reckoned that the action shouldn't have been as mesmerizing as she'd found it.

"It's alright, Headmaster. I'd appreciate it if you didn't try it again anytime soon, though." Hermione smiled ruefully. When faced with Dumbledore's benign eyes, her anger faded. Besides, she figured that it was well worth the trouble witnessing Snape's indignation on her behalf.

"Certainly, dear," Dumbledore beamed. "It has come to my attention, however, that you have been spending more time in Severus' rooms."

Snape bristled in the chair next to her. "What are you implying, Albus?" he hissed. "I acknowledge that I was lax in my responsibilities—" he sounded pained at the admission "—but not for _that_ reason."

Hermione could only gape in surprise at the line of questioning.

Dumbledore held up a hand. "You misunderstand me, Severus. As Miss Granger has been frequenting your rooms more often—I am well aware of your extra teachings—it seems prudent to allow her access to the Floo at all times, particularly if you plan on making it a habit to return injured."

Tense silence, at least on her part—Dumbledore was maddeningly cheerful—followed as Snape deliberated slowly.

"...It has its merits," Snape finally agreed, relaxing back into his seat. She let out a sigh of relief that Dumbledore didn't actually believe that her and Snape were involved. That would've been terribly awkward. However, she _was_ a little worried that Dumbledore suspected the contents of her recent inappropriate thoughts.

"I can key your magical signature into Hogwarts' wards, Hermione, so that you may use any Floos in the castle, much like the other staff members," Dumbledore explained. "In the event that a similar situation to last night were to occur, you will be able to keep me informed rather than leaving me to my own devices."

"Oh! It was not our intention to leave you in the dark," Hermione apologized. Snape merely scowled at the gentle reprimand.

"Of course not!" Dumbledore smiled kindly. "You both have been working admirably hard in the past weeks—I commend your dedication. However, if you wouldn't mind, Miss Granger, I'd like to discuss a few matters with Professor Snape."

"Certainly, sir. Have a good night, Headmaster. Professor Snape." She nodded at him and headed to her rooms—this time, hopefully, through the portrait entrance.

* * *

The weekend passed in a flurry of practice drills. Ron had effortlessly combined aspects of his role as Quidditch captain with his responsibilities in the DA; the Gryffindor quidditch team members were often pitted against the other half of the DA while being tasked with keeping possession of a Quaffle.

For once, the three Gryffindors were in reasonably good spirits as they relaxed in Hermione's rooms—Ron was enthusiastically regaling Harry with the teamwork displayed by Colin Creevey and Dean Thomas during one particularly difficult drill. She rolled her eyes fondly at the conversation—somehow, the boys always managed to involve Quidditch—but watched Harry covertly from her spot at her desk; he became noticeably less animated than he normally would be, and Ron's exaggerated gusto was a futile attempt at compensating for Draco's absence.

Hermione sighed quietly to herself, certain that Harry was once again feeling guilty that Draco couldn't be with them as well.

"You know, perhaps I could ask Professor Snape if Draco can Floo here through his rooms. After all, Dumbledore gave me free access to the Floo," she said casually.

Harry perked up immediately. "Brilliant, Hermione!"

She smiled indulgently at her grinning friend; next to him, Ron pretended to gag.

Nevermind that it was a convenient excuse to see Snape. She couldn't help herself—he was so _interesting_. He completed his duties without complaint, even when they came at a personal cost, and he actually treated them as _adults_ capable of making decisions in a war.

It was also rather liberating to know that their relationship had progressed far enough that he allowed her to eat in his rooms when he could have easily kicked her out, although he still wasn't particularly friendly. Perhaps he'd be more forthcoming with the details about Lily's soul magic now, though.

Hermione tucked her schoolwork in her bag and jabbed a finger in Harry and Ron's direction. "No copying my essays while I'm gone," she said sternly and flooed to Snape's quarters before they could protest their innocence.

* * *

"Ah, Miss Granger, wonderful to see you again," Lucius Malfoy's slick tones greeted her.

Startled, Hermione whirled around to face him. Just like their first encounter, Snape was absent from the room.

"Oh, hello, Mr. Malfoy." Although she would have preferred to hear Snape's smooth voice, she tried not to let her disappointment show. "What are you doing here?"

"This isn't much of a social visit, I'm afraid. Severus has gone to fetch Draco now." Malfoy paced restlessly.

"Why? What's going on?" she questioned in alarm.

Malfoy suddenly stopped and drew himself up to his full intimidating height. His grey eyes stared at her calculatingly. "Severus trusts you," he murmured softly—dangerously.

"Er, I suppose so," she answered warily. Malfoy may be Draco's father and one of Snape's good friends, but the crafty glint in his eyes forcefully reminded her that he was not one to be trifled with—the Malfoys had earned their reputation for a reason.

"And Draco trusts you?"

"I'd like to think so." She spoke more confidently this time. She refused to be cowed by Lucius bloody Malfoy.

A satisfied smirk curled his lips.

She shuddered at his expression. Where was Snape? When faced with Malfoy's self-serving cunning, she dearly missed Snape's infuriating presence. At least she knew that Snape had their best interests in mind.

"I'm going to entrust you with some… sensitive information, Miss Granger," Malfoy continued, oblivious of her discomfort. "The Dark Lord plans on sending Severus on a mission with my esteemed sister-in-law. I'm sure you can gather that they do not get along very well."

Hermione shuddered again, this time for an entirely different reason. Bellatrix Lestrange? The mad woman who had killed Sirius?

"Knowing Severus, he'll return in a right snit after Bellatrix's enforced companionship. I believe it would be advantageous to us all if _someone_ was aware of this and capable of focusing his irritation somewhere else."

She scowled. Was this a joke to him? "What are you trying to say here, Malfoy?"

"Simply that your overbearing presence should be enough to distract our dear friend from less pleasant matters," he purred winningly.

Now she knew where Draco had inherited his talent of annoying people. She crossed her arms. And to think she'd found the pompous arse attractive. "I'm sure Harry—or even your own son—

would be just as good at accomplishing that."

"Of course—who do you think Draco learned it from? He wouldn't be best pleased if Snape made Potter cry, though, would he?"

"Like that would happen," she scoffed, unimpressed. Malfoy merely shrugged, so she continued indignantly, "And what am I, hippogriff feed?"

His eyes widened. "Certainly not," he proclaimed. "I daresay you'd be dragon feed, at least."

Hermione rolled her eyes. Ruddy Malfoys. She was impressed that Snape had tolerated their presence for so many years.

"Hermione. Is something wrong?"

She welcomed the sound of Snape's voice as he entered with Draco, even if the man didn't sound particularly welcoming himself.

"Ah—hello, Father. Hermione, is everything alright?" Draco asked, evidently caught off guard by the sight of Hermione's vexed expression being directed at his father.

"Of course!" She hurried to reassure him. "I was just coming to see if you'd like to join us in my rooms." She glanced at Draco, then slid her gaze to the side to examine Snape's lean figure as he casually strode between her and Malfoy.

He inclined his head in greeting. "I shall send Draco through after our discussion," Snape said in a clear dismissal.

She nodded, quite willing to let Snape deal with _two_ Malfoys on his own.

"Now, Severus," Lucius interjected. "I've already informed Miss Granger of the issue. Surely she could be of some use?"

Snape scowled at her and she shrugged. After all, she hadn't had much of a choice in what Malfoy decided to share.

"What exactly is the issue?" Draco asked impatiently, and Hermione was relieved when Snape dropped the argument against her presence.

"Bellatrix was bragging about being given a mission from the Dark Lord. Of course, her one complaint was that Severus would be going as well." Lucius sneered. "She is a talented witch, but even the Dark Lord is aware of her madness—she couldn't be trusted to go alone. In the meantime, I have been ordered to update him on Draco's progress concerning his mission with Dumbledore."

"Is He displeased?" Draco's brow furrowed in worry.

Lucius grimaced delicately. "If I could speak with my son alone, please, Severus…"

Snape frowned. "If you think that is best…" At Lucius' insistent stare, the Potions Master acquiesced. "Very well. Hermione, come with me."

Hermione trotted to catch up with Snape's disappearing figure, just catching a glimpse of the end of his cloak licking at a long leg as it slipped through the door of the potions lab.

"What are we doing here?" she asked, eyeing the steaming cauldron he was preparing with trepidation. Certainly he wouldn't spring a pop quiz on her…

"Although the Dark Lord has yet to summon me, I am inclined to trust Lucius's word. As such, someone will need to be available midweek to brew Lupin's Wolfsbane Potion."

His dark eyes examined her critically and she held her breath. Bugger! It _was_ a pop quiz.

Narrowing his eyes, Snape barked, "What is the main component of the base of the Wolfsbane Potion?"

"Aconite root," she answered immediately.

" _Why,_ Miss Granger?" He stalked menacingly closer.

Shite! The base should be stable for the other ingredients to build on, so if it was mostly composed of root— "The root absorbs any volatile elements?"

His glare didn't waver and, though inwardly grimacing at having been wrong, she stubbornly jutted her chin. Only when he was towering over her, with merely a foot between them, did she catch the amused twitch of his thin lips.

"You berk!" she exclaimed without thinking. Thankfully, this only caused his smirk to widen. "What did you actually want?"

"I _do_ require your time; however, it will not be for brewing the potion. Did you truly believe I would let you work—unsupervised—in my lab?" he asked, raising an eyebrow mockingly.

She rolled her eyes to give her time to order her thoughts. "Of course not—don't be ridiculous," she lied baldly.

Snape snorted, clearly not falling for it. She was tempted to smack him or, more alarmingly, to snog him. Especially when all she'd need to do was rise onto her tiptoes…

"Unfortunately, Wolfsbane tends to spoil quickly once removed from the original cauldron it was brewed in. You'll need to come in everyday this week to decant a vial for Lupin." Apparently finished with having fun at her expense, Snape took a step back. She wasn't sure if she should be relieved or disappointed.

"How will I deliver it to Remus?" she asked, ever practical.

"I imagine Albus will invite Lupin back as the substitute Healing professor during my absence."

Translation: _This is my plan, and Dumbledore better bloody well follow it._

She grinned. "You just don't want Remus in your rooms."

"That would be preferred, yes," he replied shamelessly, striding toward the potions bench. "Now, come over here so I can show you how to properly transfer the Wolfsbane."

Obediently joining his side, her grin didn't budge as she privately basked in the fact that he was quite alright with allowing _her_ in his lab.

* * *

Whispers suffocated the Great Hall as Hermione took her place at Gryffindor table with Ron and Harry. Heads turned to follow Harry, only to whip back around when she glared disapprovingly at the rude stares.

"Did you see? Do you think it's true?"

"He's been with him a lot lately…"

"...I mean, I guess I can kinda see it now…"

Harry acted perfectly oblivious, though she knew better by his tense grip on his fork.

"Merlin, Harry, what'd you do this time?" Ron asked between mouthfuls of eggs.

Hermione frowned, catching sight of the bold headline on Neville's copy of The Daily Prophet. She snatched it from his empty spot; he'd just left to water his plants in the greenhouse as they were arriving for breakfast.

"Look, Ron," she said, sliding the newspaper over.

BOY WHO LIVED BATS FOR OTHER SIDE!

Ron spit out his drink. "Bloody hell!"

She sighed and waved her wand to clean up the mess.

"Informed by an anonymous source late last night?" Ron read out loud. "What's this rubbish?"

Hermione glanced across the Slytherin table at Draco's cool expression. "Harry?" she questioned.

"Malfoy's idea." Harry smiled with grim determination.

"Dra—oh," Hermione realized. _Lucius_ Malfoy. That must have been what he was discussing alone with Draco last night. This was Lucius's plan to appease Voldemort? "Is it a _good_ idea?" she asked uncertainly. Harry had always preferred to keep his sexuality under the radar.

"Good? Dunno. But it's the best we've got."

She grimaced sympathetically. He shouldn't have to sacrifice the privacy of his first meaningful relationship to buy more time in a war.

Harry seemed to know what she was thinking. "It's worth it," he said firmly.

"I understand." Hermione frowned up at Snape's empty chair. Clearly, Voldemort was impatient for him to begin his mission immediately.

What condition would Snape return in this time? He hadn't seemed at all worried about his own well-being when Lucius had announced Voldemort's plans. She knew, somehow, that he would have echoed the exact same sentiment that Harry had just expressed.

 _It's worth it._


	15. XV Morality

**A/N:** _Happy Friday to all my wonderful readers and reviewers! :D And to the kind reviewer on my (very first) oneshot, if you're possibly reading this, I actually did think of continuing its story since it seemed like such a shame to leave it there. Probably not for a little bit, and it hopefully wouldn't be as long as this one 'cause I don't think I'd survive, but I'd like to add a few more chapters to it! :)_

* * *

" _Bella_!" Snape hissed angrily after the cackling witch as she darted between trees in the dark Scandinavian forest. "Where are you _going_?"

He nearly ran head first into a thick branch and swore loudly, narrowly avoiding tripping over the tree's sprawling roots.

"My, my, Severus, such a foul mouth you have!" Bellatrix's sickly sweet giggle echoed through the shadows. "I wonder what other uses I could find for such a dirty—"

Snape _finally_ caught up with the mad witch and cast a silencing spell at her. The way she pouted and folded her arms under her breasts might have been distracting if Lucius hadn't traumatized him with tales of Bella's sexual exploits.

Rolling her eyes dramatically, Bellatrix cast _Finite Incantatem_. "You're no fun."

"Bella, we're running out of time. The Dark Lord expects us back tonight and we have yet to find anything about Stanislav Stafer's potion!" He'd also yet to come up with a plan that could not be traced back to him to spare the Durmstrang Potions Master from Bellatrix's violent whims; it was rather difficult to concentrate when Bella was always nearby and in possession of a wand. Never mind the fact that if they did find Stanislav, it would become blatantly obvious that Snape had already drawn from the man's notes on his dementor potion. Voldemort would be enraged that Snape had broken confidentiality and hadn't spent the time to develop the potion himself.

Her mouth widened into a sharp grin, and she jerked her head toward the clearing in front of them. "What're you worried about? We're already here."

Snape's lips turned down in an impatient frown. It was a small unwooded break in the trees—nothing special. But as he entered the clearing a step behind Bellatrix, he felt the slightest telltale tingling of magical wards.

"What is this?" he asked, adopting an unimpressed tone while reeling inwardly. How had she managed to come up with this without him knowing? They'd spent the whole bloody week constantly in each other's company.

"Stafer's _secret_ safe house, of course," Bellatrix answered smugly.

 _Secret_? Fuck. He should have _known_ that the wizard Bella had slept with the other night hadn't been a random lay—the man certainly hadn't been her type.

"He was Stafer's secret keeper," Snape realized out loud.

"Clever as always, luv," Bella purred. "A poor choice for a secret keeper, too. He was an easy one to break."

Bleeding hell. He didn't even want to know.

"It seems strange that he wouldn't have put up additional wards around the area, though, doesn't it?" Snape mused. "It seems like only the Fidelius Charm is active."

Bella shrugged carelessly. "As if that buffoon could give me trouble."

Snape resisted the urge to point out that that buffoon had already given them a week's worth of trouble. "And just what am I supposed to do, considering you didn't see fit to include me in your plans?"

"Why, I didn't know you were interested," Bella cooed with a vicious smile. "You know, you certainly could have joined if you wanted to."

"Fuck off, Bella." Snape scowled, nearing the end of his patience.

"Really, such foul language in front of a lady. But I suppose that's to be expected coming from a dirty half-blood." She twirled as they reached the magical barrier separating them from Stafer's safe house. "Mutts like you ought to be tied outside and taught a lesson!"

Snape's scowl deepened. How ironic for Sirius Black's cousin to call him a mutt. "I'm perfectly capable of standing watch without a leash," Snape said darkly. "Just hurry up and take whatever seems useful—I'm done traipsing in the bloody woods."

"Oh, but you'd look quite _fetching_ with a collar," Bella cackled, disappearing behind the barrier. Snape glanced to the sky and counted to ten before setting out to place his own wards around the area.

* * *

He didn't know how long he'd stood waiting for Bellatrix to return. The sun was beginning to set and he did _not_ fancy lingering in a dark forest with unknown creatures lurking about. If the witch didn't show her face in the next 10 minutes, Snape was leaving without her. Besides, Voldemort would be expecting them back soon and if they kept him waiting… Snape shuddered. No, he'd best show up—with or without Bella—and face Voldemort's anger. The Dark Lord would stew in an even greater fury if neither of them showed up.

He shifted anxiously on his feet.

5 more minutes…

"Bella, if you don't come out now I'm returning to Our Lord and informing him of your failure," Snape threatened loudly at the empty space.

1 minute…

"Alright, have it your way, you wretch."

But just as Snape prepared to Apparate, Bellatrix stumbled out of bounds of the Fidelius Charm, her face ghostly pale.

"Merlin's beard!" He gaped in shock for half a second. "What happened to you?"

She didn't answer; foam had begun to seep out of her open mouth, and she collapsed limply to the ground.

Snape remained frozen—a solitary figure as the clearing stood still. Bella was slumped, unmoving, on the sparse grass, the silence only disturbed by her soft gurgling noises as foam continued to rise up through her throat.

He could leave, he thought dispassionately. It would be easy. How many lives would he save by letting her die? And yet, if he left and she lived, the Dark Lord would kill him on the spot for abandoning his most trusted servant.

Surely the curse would kill her, though? Even he had never encountered it before, so he couldn't have healed her if he wanted to. If he delayed just a while longer before returning her dead body to the Dark Lord, he could pass his failure off as incompetence rather than deliberate sabotage. Still…

Snape knelt at her side and stared into her glazed eyes. Had there ever been love shining from their depths? Compassion? Understanding? He wasn't sure. Certainly not when she'd tortured countless innocents, nor when she'd killed Sirius. But he'd _never_ stood aside and watched someone die in front of him if he had the chance to act.

And who was he to scoff at the possibility of redemption, however unlikely it may seem?

The stinging of his Dark Mark brought Snape back to reality, and he grabbed ahold of Bellatrix's unresponsive—but still breathing—body and Apparated.

If he came to regret his decision, he could always find a way to off her later.

* * *

Severus stepped tiredly out of the floo. He'd been lucky this time—Voldemort had hastily searched through his mind before withdrawing to tend to Bellatrix. It had probably been the most urgent he'd ever seen the Dark Lord.

Unlacing his boots and placing them by the fireplace, Severus eagerly removed his cloak and outer robes. He was itching for a relaxing hot shower after the day's events.

Unfortunately, his path to the bathroom was diverted when he realized that someone was cluttering around in his lab. That had better not be Lupin.

Severus cracked the door open to peer inside and was relieved to be greeted by Hermione's bushy hair. She hummed merrily as she stoppered a fresh vial of Wolfsbane, only to freeze when she realized the door had opened.

"Er, who is it?" she called. "I won't be best pleased if it's you, Remus—I _told_ you I'd only be a second."

Rolling his eyes, Severus pushed the door open fully and strode inside. As if the werewolf wouldn't have barged in already.

"Oh!" she gasped. "Hello. I didn't realize you were coming back tonight. You look, uh..."

"Like I've been trudging through a forest after a mad woman?" he supplied dryly. "Never mind that. You should bring Lupin his potion first."

"Right! I'll be back in a tick."

"I don't recall inviting you back," Severus muttered half-heartedly under his breath as she passed him. "At least give me time to get a bloody shower."

Her answering snort carried over from the sitting room.

* * *

Severus was just finishing toweling his wet hair when he heard Hermione's voice announcing her return. He hurriedly pulled on a shirt and trousers, thankful that Lupin's propensity for idle chatter had bought him just enough time to dress.

Raking a hand through his damp hair, he found Hermione sitting patiently in _his_ armchair.

"What?" he snapped, taking in her stunned expression as he sat grumpily on the lumpy couch.

Wide-eyed, she blinked. "I hadn't expected you to actually take a shower. Er, are you feeling better now?"

"I suppose so," he muttered. "Is there a reason you're in my seat?" Infuriating woman. What was she even still doing here? He _should_ kick her out, but after having to continuously watch his back for a week, it was wonderful to be in the company of someone whose intentions he didn't have to doubt.

She shrugged. "It's more comfortable, and I figured if I had to wait…"

"You _have_ become rather impertinent, haven't you?" he mused out loud, though he couldn't muster the energy to dissuade her.

"So what happened?" Hermione changed the subject.

"It was a complete waste of time," he grumbled, pouring himself a glass of firewhiskey. "The Dark Lord wanted us to steal Stanislav Stafer's research notes—he was the Potions Master that Lucius had contacted. Even if we had found him, the notes would have been useless."

Her brow furrowed. "So you didn't find him? I thought he worked at Durmstrang."

She sat cross-legged in the chair—a sight that would have surely given Lucius a conniption. Severus sighed loudly.

"He does. However, Durmstrang is almost inaccessible to outsiders. Bella then decided that she'd find Stafer's secret-kept safe house instead."

" _Bella_?" She interrupted his retelling, lips pursed.

"That _is_ her name." He frowned back at her.

"I hadn't realized you were so familiar," she muttered, glaring down at her lap.

Bewildered, Severus paused with his glass held up to his lips. "Excuse me?" He laid the glass down to examine the witch more carefully. He had assumed that Hermione would hold a grudge for Bellatrix's role in Sirius's death, but he hadn't expected her to sulk about it. How could he justify saving the dying Death Eater to her now? No, it wasn't her burden anyway. He would keep it to himself.

Hermione coughed. "Mr. Malfoy had warned me that the two of you didn't get along, is all. To be honest, I thought you'd be in a worse mood."

"Would you prefer me to yell at you?" Severus asked wryly.

"Of course not, don't be ridiculous. Did you find the safe house, then?"

"We did, though Bella hadn't deigned to include me with the secret keeper. I stood guard outside, but she must have run into a trap. I'd never seen that curse before."

"Did she…?" Hermione asked hesitantly, and he was relieved that there was no vindictive hope of Bellatrix's death evident in her eyes.

Then another thought hit him. What if she was appalled that he'd even considered leaving the witch behind? Even after all the pain that Bellatrix had inflicted, he wouldn't put it past Hermione to surprise him with her capacity for compassion.

"No," he murmured. "The Dark Lord called us back. Presumably, he has healed her by now."

"Oh. Alright." She seemed conflicted about the news. Perhaps he could mention it…

No! What was he thinking? The witch may be tolerating his presence now—possibly due to Lucius's unsurprising meddling—but surely this would change her opinion of him. She'd witnessed his memory of killing a child, but that had been an act of mercy. To leave someone suffering in cold blood was an entirely different circumstance.

 _Should_ he have left Bellatrix? Was he right to save her? _Merlin_.

"Are you feeling okay?" she asked in concern. "Only you're acting a little… off. Maybe you should get some rest."

Yes—rest. He could do that. With the help of a Dreamless Sleep. How much sleep had he gotten in the past week? Not much. The anxiety of closing his eyes in Bella's presence had disrupted most of his slumber.

"Professor?"

He should have let her die. It would mean one less Death Eater in the world.

"Snape? You're worrying me. Should I call Madame Pomfrey?"

 _Why_ had he brought her back? She would recover. Her victims wouldn't. His fault.

"Severus!" Hermione finally shouted, shaking him gently by the shoulders.

He blinked blearily at her. So tired.

"If you don't drag your arse to bed right now, I'll levitate you there," she threatened firmly.

Sleep. Right. He waved her away so he could stand. "I'm fine, thank you. You can return to your rooms."

"I think I'll wait till I know you've listened, actually. Then I'll let Dumbledore know you're alright." She crossed her arms sternly and his gaze flicked towards her breasts before he could stop himself. Mm. Lovely—fuck. He really did need to sleep.

With an almighty scowl, he refused to look at her again as he stalked to his bedroom with as much dignity he could muster.

* * *

Severus sunk gratefully into the familiar divots of his bed. A few minutes later, as he clung to the last vestiges of wakefulness, Hermione crept quietly to his bedside to check on him.

"Should've let her die," he mumbled almost incoherently. The thin figure above him paused, and he barely made out the shaking of her head.

"You're a good man, Severus." Her whispered reassurance was the last thing he remembered before the effects of the Dreamless Sleep potion overtook him.


	16. XVI Escalate

**AN:** _Whew, did I say I'd update weekly? I'm a dirty rotten liar D: Here's a new chapter for anyone still with me - you're the best! This story'll be completed someday, one way or another! :)_

* * *

" _No_ , Harry, you imbeci—I mean, that's incorrect. You need to stir counterclockwise four times before adding the leaves," Draco instructed his struggling boyfriend as they reviewed for their next lesson.

Hermione snorted to herself. Judging by the tenseness of his jaw, the blond was nearing the end of his patience. Since Harry's—and whispering rumours of Draco's—sexuality were out in the open, they'd given up keeping Draco from Hermione's rooms. It certainly improved Harry's mood, but this time it appeared that Draco was close to channeling his inner Snape.

"Merlin, mate, you're lucky Snape's not still teaching Potions," Ron interrupted cheerfully.

Harry sighed forlornly. "I think we all need to accept that I'm hopeless at Potions. I've been doing alright in Healing, though—I'm pretty sure that's the only reason Snape's been putting up with me for so long."

"Speaking of Snape," Hermione interjected, "I think it's around time to begin brewing Remus's Wolfsbane Potion."

Her friends glanced at each other.

"It's been a month since Snape's returned from his foray with Bellatrix. You know you don't have to help with the Wolfsbane anymore, right?" Draco asked slowly.

She rolled her eyes. " _Obviously._ But I think relationships were much less strained when I delivered the potion instead of Snape. They still don't get along much, do they?"

Draco shrugged. "Tell Lupin not to take it so personally—Uncle Severus doesn't get along with anyone too well."

"He's not that bad, really," she murmured, recalling the state he'd been in after returning from his mission with Bellatrix. She hadn't dared broach the subject again, though, considering she was uncertain if _she'd_ have let Bellatrix live after what the witch had done to Sirius, Neville's parents, and countless others.

Of course, she could only respect Snape more for having to be the one to choose.

"Yeah, he's alright, isn't he?" Ron agreed, oblivious to her expanding regard.

"Which is why I'm going to go help him with the Wolfsbane," she repeated again firmly.

Ron held his hands up in surrender. "Hey, I wasn't stopping you or anything. Be my guest—better you than me, anyway."

* * *

Hermione prepared to heave Snape's potions lab door open, only to freeze at the faint murmurings of a mounting argument. She tentatively cracked the door open using her body weight and was immediately pinned by Snape's dark eyes, his tense, unwelcoming form braced against the counter to block Remus's path.

"Sorry, ah, this is clearly a bad time. I'll come back in a bit, shall I?" she stammered out as Remus also turned his gaze to scrutinize her.

Snape's eyes, which had been narrowed in vexation, now widened in alarm. "No need, Miss Granger," he said quickly, giving Remus an unfriendly push in the back. "Lupin was just leaving, _wasn't he_?" He emphasized this with another prod.

Hermione shifted uncomfortably as Remus glanced between her and Snape suspiciously.

"You know, if Hermione was coming to help you with the potion, you could have just said so," the normally soft-spoken man replied tersely.

Snape shrugged, mouth curled up unrepentantly. "Have a good night, Lupin."

Remus exhaled loudly and pulled open the door, shuffling past Hermione with an exasperated expression.

"Better you than me," Remus muttered, giving her a friendly pat on the shoulder.

"Now, that you've helped me be rid of Lupin, what did you actually want?" Snape asked once Remus had left.

She shrugged, daring to sidle up next to him to peer into the boiling cauldron. "To be honest, I did come over to see if you needed any help with the Wolfsbane."

He raised an eyebrow and resumed the process of preparing the lined up ingredients that Remus had clearly interrupted. "I suppose grading papers and plotting to defeat Voldemort isn't enough to keep you busy?"

"I'm fairly certain that that's written in _your_ job description," she pointed out with a wry smile, "and yet here you are."

Snape chuckled—a rare but increasingly more frequent occurrence during their meetings in the past month. "Certainly you've enough counter curses to practice by now."

"Are you serious? I'm done staring at that grotesque mannequin," she complained.

He rolled his eyes dramatically and handed her a second knife, although by now she was fairly sure that he was joking—he didn't actually seem to mind her presence.

"If Lupin suddenly becomes violently ill, I'll know who to blame it on then," Snape said uncharitably but pushed the ingredients in front of her. She'd take that as enough of an acquiescence.

"He just wants to help," she defended the absent man. "You know, I spoke with him last month when I delivered the Wolfsbane to him, and he's very grateful for what you're doing."

"Yes, he's rather good at kissing arse when it benefits him, isn't he?" Snape replied snidely.

She scowled. "That was unkind—you _know_ Remus means well. But I can tell his presence would probably be more of an inconvenience than help, so I'll talk to him later, alright?"

Snape chopped in silence for so long that Hermione began to wonder if he was going to completely ignore her. Finally, he nonchalantly said, "Do whatever you wish," and turned to his cauldron.

Well, that could have gone worse. She thought they'd been getting along fairly well recently, though she could hardly expect to be immune to his bouts of temper. Still, something seemed off this time; it had been a while since he had been quite so venomous towards Remus.

"Is everything alright?" she asked hesitantly.

Severus exhaled loudly and lowered the flame under the cauldron, leaning tiredly against the counter. "I'm not sure, unfortunately—which in and of itself is a problem."

She waited patiently for him to continue.

"The Dark Lord has informed me that he no longer requires my potions research. If we're lucky, he has simply given up on the idea of removing someone's magic."

"You don't think so," Hermione stated with rising dread.

"No," Severus murmured lowly. "He has been surprisingly—and uncharacteristically—sparse supplying details on any success. I believe he is waiting for a big occasion to do so."

"Halloween is in a few days," she realized out loud."But—he wouldn't—try something… would he? _If_ he has found some other way to remove people's magic, all the students should be safe at Hogwarts, right?"

Severus gazed at her solemnly. "You'll be fine, Hermione."

She relaxed slightly. Of course he would do his best to protect her. Hadn't that been what he'd promised Lily? "But what about the other students?"

"As much as I would like to wring their necks the majority of the time, they are not exempt from my watch either," he answered wryly.

She snorted. Typical.

"I have already informed Albus—he plans on calling an Order meeting tomorrow. There is not much that can be done, however. The best course of action is to be vigilant and, unfortunately, wait." Severus's mouth curled up grimly, and he began heating up the cauldron once more. "Hand me that stir rod, will you?"

Hermione obediently passed the instrument to him while mustering up the courage to ask him the question that had been haunting her since he'd returned from Voldemort's mission. She'd hoped that he would offer the information himself, but he had resumed Hogwarts life as if nothing had happened.

"Do you think Bellatrix will be involved in whatever Voldemort is planning?" she asked quietly, conscious of the sizzling serenity as Severus began brewing the Wolfsbane potion.

His stirring faltered minutely—a slight stutter that would have been unnoticeable if she hadn't already been admiring his sure hands. "I've no idea."

She frowned. "But she's better now?" she pressed gently.

"No one has heard from her," he admitted, grimacing, but this time maintaining the smooth, continuous rhythm of his stirring.

"Oh," she said lamely.

"I don't believe anyone misses her," he continued darkly.

"Do you regret it now?" she asked. "Saving her, I mean. If she's still alive."

Severus's brow furrowed as he continued to brew. "No, I don't think so. Dumbledore wasn't particularly pleased though."

"What right has he to toss aside your problems?" Hermione asked indignantly. "He's not the one who has to regularly act a Death Eater."

"It _is_ a war, Hermione," Severus replied ruefully. "If you had kept her alive I would be furious."

"That's different— _I_ wouldn't need to return to a raging Dark Lord after," she pointed out stiffly, irritated that Severus was so willing to shoulder the blame.

"You've evidently been sheltered from the outside events taking place if you are trying to excuse my lapse in judgment."

The boiling cauldron crackled menacingly in the silence that followed.

"Excuse me?" she hissed. "I am well aware of what's happening past the walls of Hogwarts. You don't think I know about the Muggle raids? Seamus's dad is dead, Colin's mom, Justin's brother—shall I go on? You've hardly bothered censuring your information either, have you? I viewed your memories, remember—I watched you put a baby to death."

Severus visibly flinched this time, though years of discipline kept him focused enough to add the next ingredient.

"And you obviously don't actually believe what you just said since you aren't putting forth any arguments." She braced her hands on her hips, watching him brew through narrowed eyes. "In fact, I don't believe that you entirely agree with Dumbledore's assessment of the situation—he's entirely too focused on the end goal."

Staring straight down at his work, Severus didn't answer, lips pressed into a thin line. She sighed inwardly, wondering if she'd finally managed to aggravate him into committing homicide.

"You're a maddening witch, do you know that?" he finally said quietly and, to her relief, calmly. Although… perhaps too calmly.

"Er, thanks?" Hermione said warily.

Severus rolled his eyes. "I'm not going to hex you, Granger. Just shut up for the next few minutes so I can finish this potion—the end is always the trickiest part."

She smiled in relief and settled down onto a nearby stool to admire his strong, sure hands as they weaved intricate stirring patterns between sprinkles of chopped ingredients.

* * *

For the next few nights, Hermione diligently delivered Remus' dose of Wolfsbane to him. She decanted a vial of the potion from Severus' lab and hummed absently to distract herself as she strolled to Remus' office, steadfastly ignoring the ominous lull that had overtaken Hogwarts after the Halloween Feast had ended.

Remus' haggard face greeted her and she frowned at him, closing the door behind her.

"Have you been sleeping?" she asked, handing over the Wolfsbane Potion, which he drank immediately.

"There hasn't been enough time," Remus answered with a grimace. "Halloween is here and Severus seems convinced that Voldemort is planning something—" He paused. "Thank him for the Wolfsbane Potion for me, will you? He's been even more touchy than usual. Anyway, Albus has had us on high alert patrolling and double-checking everything. Normally, I'd be alright, but the week of the full moon is always difficult."

Hermione frowned sympathetically. "The day is almost over, though. Surely we would have heard something if Voldemort had anything planned."

"Let's hope so," Remus replied, shrugging. "Thanks for bringing the potion, Hermione. I'll see you in the morning."

* * *

Morning for Hermione arrived in the form of Professor McGonagall pounding on her bedroom door at three a.m. She jolted awake, hitting her ankle painfully off the end board of her bed.

"Miss Granger!" Professor McGonagall's shrill tone cut through the night. "If you don't come out in the next ten seconds—"

"It's alright, Professor, I'm here," said Hermione hurriedly as she yanked the door open, nursing her bruised ankle. "What's wrong?"

"My dear," McGonagall said despairingly and pulled Hermione into a brisk but tight hug.

"Professor?" Hermione asked in alarm, the pain in her ankle forgotten as she examined McGonagall's withered expression.

"Come with me—quickly."

* * *

Eerily familiar scenes greeted Hermione as she recovered from her Side-Along Apparition with Professor McGonagall. Members of the Order were feverishly setting up Muggle-repelling wards and Obliviating Muggle witnesses, while Dumbledore was engaged in a heated conversation with Gawain Robards, the Head of the Auror Office. Hermione shuddered, recalling the aftermath of the raid that she'd observed in Severus' memories.

However, what truly caught her attention was the sight of an unconscious Tonks being levitated out of _her childhood home_.

"Mum," Hermione gasped, breaking away from McGonagall to run towards the open door. "Dad!" she yelled as she burst through the entrance. Inexplicably, unbidden, her feet took her to the sitting room as flashes of Severus' previous raid flashed in her mind.

"Miss Granger—" A voice—Dumbledore's?—tried in vain to stop her progress, but it was too late.

" _No_ ," she moaned, dropping to her knees, only to scramble to her feet at the sight of the Death Eater mask lying on the carpet. She drew her wand and pointed it shakily at the figure crouched above her parents' bodies. "Don't move!" she hissed, though her hand was so unsteady that she wasn't sure she could curse the Death Eater even if she tried.

Pale, slender hands were raised immediately in the air as a sign of surrender. "Hermione, it's me," Severus said quietly, still with his back to her.

"Severus?" she hiccoughed, her wand clattering to the floor as she crawled towards the two bodies lying prone in the centre of the room. She could only be thankful that the rest of the room seemed relatively untouched, unlike the scene in Severus' memory. "Are they…?"

"Your mum… is fine," he murmured.

But as she gently put a hand on his shoulder, she realized that he'd been staring dumbly at her father's body—or what was left of it. Her grip tightened.

"I couldn't save him in time," Severus continued desolately. "I tried, Hermione, truly."

"I—" She cleared her throat and tried again. "I believe you. Of course. I just…"

John Granger's body was imprinted with vicious knife marks, and Hermione had to brace herself on all fours to prevent herself from vomiting at the sight. She reached for her mum's still hand, noting disconnectedly that the skin on her palm had been recently healed.

"Who, Severus? Who did this?" she asked.

"Hermione…" Severus said uncertainly.

"I _need_ to know. Please."

"I don't think—Let's get your mother to safety first, shall we?"

She frowned and wiped away her steady tears, salty despair mingling on her tongue, to stare searchingly into Severus' face. He was hiding something, she knew. But she couldn't deny that removing her mum from this awful scene was a higher priority.

"And Mum—she's alright?"

"I healed all the cuts," he promised. "She needs only sleep now."

Hermione took in a deep shuddering breath and reached out her other hand to squeeze his forearm. "Alright. Let's go."


	17. XVII Shifting

**A/N:** _Inspiration has come back - another chapter ready to go! And you were right in one, KnowInsight :) Hope you're all having a great holiday and thanks for reading!_

* * *

"FILTH! You dare bring this _Muggle_ into my home?!"

Severus's face was stony as he levitated Mrs. Granger upstairs and away from Walburga Black's screeching portrait. Beside him, Hermione trembled uncontrollably and clung to her mother's limp hand.

How had it all gone so wrong?

He'd been completely unaware of any raids tonight—he'd been unceremoniously awoken by Dumbledore's urgent voice in the Floo. By the time they'd arrived at the unassuming Muggle neighborhood, Aurors were already present and the perpetrators had fled. And so he was sent to search for survivors. He entered the last house that the Aurors had not yet checked—Severus refused to spend more time than necessary in their company.

* * *

The familiar sight of blood had painted the grisly scene before him. Bellatrix's work was easily identifiable, and Severus mechanically began healing the unconscious woman's knife wounds as best he could; a quick glance at the man had been enough to realize where he ought to focus his efforts.

Suddenly, the woman's eyelashes began to flutter and Severus cursed under his breath, bracing himself to handle the inevitable incoming hysteria. Soft brown eyes met his and he opened his mouth to halt—

A shaky hand reached up to pat his arm. "So you're the professor teaching Healing. Thank you." And then her eyes closed once again.

With a terrible, gut-wrenching, drop in his stomach, Severus glanced at the fireplace mantel. Hermione's still, beaming face and shining brown eyes stared at him accusingly from the picture frame.

* * *

"Settle her in the bed," Severus said quietly.

Hermione pulled the sheets down obediently, pale hands immediately reaching back to clutch Jean Granger's healed hand.

"Good. There are some Dreamless Sleep potions in the medicine cabinet in the bathroom—fetch the smallest bottle."

"Are they safe to use on a Muggle?" Hermione's voice was barely above a whisper.

"A small amount will do no harm. The best thing for her now is to ensure that she rests."

She nodded and disappeared briefly, returning with a bottle that he knew was certainly not the smallest.

"Hermione?" he questioned carefully.

"I—I don't think I'll be able to sleep without it," she admitted as her eyes turned glassy with tears. "I hope that's… okay."

Severus took in a deep breath before he could reply. It was his fault. If Bellatrix hadn't been alive…

"Yes, of course. I'll be in the room across the hall."

"Actually," Hermione interrupted shyly before he could leave, "would you stay? Please?"

Severus hesitated. He shouldn't. He knew he shouldn't.

"I'll Transfigure you a cot—"

Oh, Merlin save him.

"—or even an armchair. I just don't want to be alone," her voice trailed off.

 _Never, you beautiful girl_. "An armchair will suffice," he ground out through his teeth and was rewarded with a horrible, tear-stained parody of the bright smile from the picture in her living room.

* * *

Half an hour later, Severus pulled himself away from the mesmerizing rise-and-fall of Hermione's breathing. He checked the time and quietly slipped out of the room.

Upon reaching the bottom of the stairs, Lupin greeted him from the kitchen. Severus quickly hid his surprise as he followed the sound of the voice.

Lupin's haggard expression was the worst Severus had seen the man.

"You look like utter shite," Severus muttered.

Lupin cracked a wry smile. "Speak for yourself, Severus."

He shrugged. Sleep had never come to him willingly. "Where are the others?"

"Albus and Minerva are still sorting out the Aurors. Most of the other members of the Order were asleep, so I volunteered to come here."

Severus eyed the werewolf critically. He really did look ill. "When is the full moon?" he asked.

"Tomorrow," Lupin sighed. "I never get much sleep before the transformation, anyway."

Severus decided to ignore their mutual sleep troubles. "I'll be back—I must check on something at Hogwarts. The Dreamless Sleep should allow Miss Granger and her mother a couple more hours before they wake. I should return before then, and then I shall reevaluate Mrs. Granger's injuries."

"I'll take care of them, Severus," Remus replied solemnly.

Despite his intense dislike of the man, Severus had never doubted his word. "I know."

* * *

Severus drummed his fingers impatiently against the emerald-adorned gold goblet in his hand—another gift from the Malfoys that had been forced upon him. He'd never put it to much use, but had decided that a glass of Firewhisky wouldn't be amiss right now. Long legs stretched out in front of him as he reclined in his favorite armchair, and continued to tap his fingers in wait of Lucius.

Finally, the Floo flared up and Lucius walked into the room. Severus arched an eyebrow at his friend's bedraggled appearance. "My apologies—did I wake you?"

Lucius waved him off impatiently. "Just be a dear and hand over some of that Firewhisky, will you?"

"Isn't it too early for you to be drinking?" Severus drawled as he handed over his own half-finished goblet.

"I don't believe that that stopped you," Lucius grunted, voice still groggy with sleep as he took a seat.

"Ah, but my day hasn't ended—I've yet to go to sleep. _You_ , on the other hand, have only just woken up."

Lucius only rolled his eyes and downed the drink. "Alright. What's going on, Severus?"

"Were you aware of a raid tonight, Lucius?"

The blond was instantly more alert. Or perhaps it was the shot of Firewhisky.

"Without informing one of us? Surely not," Lucius said in disbelief.

Severus only smiled grimly.

"Without _either_ of us knowing, Severus?" Lucius repeated. "Are you certain?"

"We'll need to inform Draco about Miss Granger's parents."

Lucius's gaze sharpened. "Both?"

"The mother survived," Severus murmured. "I healed the damage from Bellatrix's knife."

" _Bella_?"

"Merlin's tits, Lucius," Severus exclaimed in frustration. "If I wanted someone to repeat everything I said I would have stayed with Granger! Are you hungover?"

Lucius pursed his lips. "No one has seen Bella since she returned."

Severus stared dumbly, his mind becoming sluggish from lack of sleep. "How can that be? Who led this raid? They must know!"

"Severus… I don't believe there was a planned raid tonight. Whatever happened, it was Bella acting alone. I can ask Narcissa if she has heard from her sister," Lucius offered while Severus struggled against the fog that had clouded his view.

"That would be… acceptable. What are you looking at me for?"

"You should sleep," said Lucius sternly. "Let me handle this."

Severus blinked tiredly, then shook his head. "I must return to check on Mrs. Granger. Dinner at the Manor tonight, then?"

Lucius sighed. "Cissy won't be pleased to hear what her sister has been up to—hopefully the prospect of hosting dinner will distract her."

* * *

Severus found Hermione awake and sitting in his Transfigured armchair. He marveled at the sheer volume of her hair, only for his fascination to turn into discomfort when she turned to face him, eyes narrowed.

"Mum woke up for a few minutes," she began slowly. "I guess Bellatrix lived after all."

"If I had known… I would have stopped her," he said in the best apology he could muster while his chest clenched painfully. _His fault_. He should have known she'd figure it out sooner rather than later.

"We all knew what Bellatrix could do," she continued, voice breaking halfway through. "Neville's parents—and now mine."

"Hermione," he said, pained. "I couldn't…" He took a deep breath. "I never meant—"

"That doesn't change anything now, _does it_?" This time she was unable to hold back a sob.

"Hermione," he repeated again desperately, but he couldn't look her in the eye. Only the sound of her crying brought his foot toward the chair.

"I never—" she sniffled "—blamed you. But—my Dad—my _Mum_ —"

Silence. Then, without warning, she flung one of Walburga Black's candle holder heirlooms.

Severus didn't flinch as it hurtled toward him, leaving a sizeable gash over his cheekbone before it shattered on the floor.

Hermione jumped out of her seat in alarm. "Severus! I didn't realize you were standing there! Oh, fuck—Merlin, look at your face! I'm so sorry," she babbled as she wiped away her tears and reached up to gently hold his face. "Gods! How is it bleeding so much? Here, let me—"

He had frozen at her proximity, the softness of her hands distracting from the sting of the cut. But as she brought her wand up to heal his face, he jerked away.

"I'm fine," he said and gingerly touched his face to inspect the damage.

"Let me heal it," Hermione insisted, still clutching at her wand.

"I am perfectly capable of healing myself," he muttered but did not resist as she cupped his face again.

"Of course you are," she soothed like he was a wounded animal. He snorted.

"I truly am sorry," she said once the blood was cleaned up. "I would never intentionally hit you like that."

"Stop apologizing," he grumbled. "I've handled much worse."

Oh, Merlin, she seemed ready to cry again.

"Let's check on your mother, shall we?" he asked quickly.

"Okay, right, yes." She attempted to discreetly wipe her eyes. "Wait, Severus."

Knelt at the side of the bed, he glanced at her questioningly.

Hermione bent down beside him, eyes still red from crying. "Thank you," she murmured, pressing a tender kiss to his wounded cheek.

He surveyed her red-rimmed eyes and tear-stained face. Her lips, puffy and swollen from her anxious worrying, were parted slightly as if in invitation. He swallowed and inclined his head in acceptance of her apology and her forgiveness.


	18. XVIII Apart

**A/N:** As always, thanks for reading! I hope you all have a great 2018! :)

* * *

"It's not polite to hit people with candle holders, dear," Jean Granger said mildly as Severus cast some diagnostic spells on her.

Hermione felt her face heat up, realizing that her mother had likely witnessed the whole event. "Er…"

"And as much as I'll miss your father—" here, she cleared her throat and blinked away tears, "—I cannot express how grateful I am that Professor Snape was able to heal me."

Suddenly, she realized that they'd never taken her father's body with them. "We'll need to arrange his funeral," Hermione murmured, knowing that if she spoke any louder her voice would tremble.

Severus reassured her as if he'd read her mind. "Dumbledore will take care of it."

She smiled gratefully. Her mum was right—she should be bloody thankful for Severus. And he hadn't even lost his temper at her. She squeezed his bicep and bit her lip as she held back tears for what felt like the hundredth time. How could she have ever blamed him? He was the only reason that she still even had a parent.

Severus cleared his throat. "How are you feeling now, Mrs. Granger?"

"Oh, God, there's no need to call me that—not after tonight. Please, call me Jean." Her mum carefully sat up in the bed and took a deep, steadying breath. "I'm a little sore, but I think it's mostly exhaustion at this point. How long until—until I may see John's body?"

Her mum was so incredibly brave, Hermione realized as she released the breath she hadn't known she'd been holding and, as she cast a quick glance at Severus, the same respect shone in his eyes.

"As soon as you are feeling ready, I imagine," he answered softly.

Gods, she loved the comforting rumble of his voice.

Her mum put on a brave face. "Right, well, I suppose I'll get some sleep then—I'll need as much energy as I can get tomorrow, won't I?"

Severus inclined his head. "I shall most likely be teaching tomorrow, but someone will be in touch to help arrange your affairs. I'll let you two rest then."

But as he stood to leave, Hermione quickly caught his wrist. Her mum needed some time alone to grieve for her husband.

"Wait," she said. "I need to speak with Harry and Ron and Draco—they should know what's happened."

"Very well. Come with me."

* * *

They didn't speak as they Apparated to the gates and made their way back to Hogwarts. But just before they reached the entrance, Severus pulled her aside, his dark eyes somber.

"If I had known what would happen, I would have killed her," he said lowly.

Hermione shook her head. "I would never ask you to do something like that for me," she murmured. "If it hadn't been Bellatrix, it likely would have been someone else. It was out of line for me to blame you."

"Given the circumstances, I can hardly blame you." His mouth quirked up in a wry smile.

"Still—it was unwarranted. And I ought to be thanking you for saving my mum."

"It was the least I could do. Now, why don't you go on up to your rooms? I'll fetch Draco and have him floo from my office."

Hermione nodded, examining the bags under his eyes and the thin line of his mouth. His lack of protest when she pulled him in for a quick hug confirmed his addled mind.

"You should sleep," she said.

"So everyone keeps telling me," he replied wearily. "And you as well. I'll bring you back to your mother before breakfast."

She nodded. "Thank you—really. I think she needed some time to mourn on her own."

"Perhaps. She is a remarkable woman, though. With a truly remarkable daughter. I have no doubt that she will recover from tonight's events."

He must definitely be sleep-deprived to have thrown in an off-hand compliment like that, but that didn't stop the warmth that suddenly engulfed her.

* * *

After settling the boys retelling the night's happenings, Hermione suddenly found herself in the centre of a group hug. She sniffled and buried her face into the closest chest.

"Gods, Hermione, I'm so sorry," Draco said quietly, tightening his grip around her back. "No one has heard from my aunt Bella since she was hurt. She's—Merlin, she's a terror. I'm sorry."

"It's not your fault," she replied as she tried to pull her hand away from someone's grasp so that she could wipe her tears. When she realized her arm was well and truly immobilized in their hug, Hermione settled for wiping her face on Harry's shirt.

"Oi, that's my one good shirt," Harry joked lightly.

She couldn't help the smile that tugged at her mouth, but was unable to make it stick. "I just—I keep thinking about his last moments and how scared he must have been," she whispered. "And the state his body was in when we found him… It was awful."

And though the boys never spoke a word to break the silence, Hermione took comfort in their unwavering support. They held her as she sobbed in despair and the unfairness of it all. She cried for the pain and fear her parents had suffered, and she cried in bitter remembrance of the last time she'd seen her dad, when he'd cheerily waved her off to the Hogwarts Express. She should have spent more time with him in the summer—should have realized that her family could be targeted by the Death Eaters.

 _Stupid, so stupid_.

"No, Hermione," Harry said fiercely.

Had she spoken out loud?

"You can't—can't blame yourself for things like this. Trust me. It'll eat at you, and still there'll be nothing you can do about it."

Ron rubbed soothingly at her back. "Your mum can stay at the Burrow while things get sorted, if she'd like. I know my mum would love the company—she's gone a bit spare with all the kids out of the house."

And involved with the war. No one dared acknowledge the unspoken reason.

Hermione nodded and wiped her face with her own shirt sleeve this time. "That might be good for her."

"And if you don't feel up to going to class," Ron continued, "we'll bring all the assignments to you so you don't miss anything."

"You guys are the best." She hiccuped and searched for a tissue to blow her nose with.

Draco hastily shoved a handkerchief in her hand.

"Thanks."

"Don't mention it," he muttered.

Clearly, the Slytherin had exceeded his comfort zone around emotional witches. Hermione giggled ridiculously into the handkerchief.

"Er, Hermione?" Draco questioned, the concern evident in his voice.

She ignored him and glanced at the clock. It was nearing eight in the morning, and she knew Severus would be flooing through soon to bring her back to Grimmauld Place. For some reason, she didn't want the boys to be present when he came—she wanted to be the sole focus of his attention.

How utterly selfish at a time like this. And yet, she couldn't stop herself.

"I'm okay now, really. I think I'll get some sleep before I go back with my mum." She embraced each of them again. "Thanks again for being here. I'll owl you any updates, okay?"

"Sure thing, Hermione." Harry returned her hug, encasing her in his strong arms. When had he grown into a man?

* * *

Once her friends had left, Hermione did indeed crawl onto her bed. She'd only wanted to rest her eyes for a bit, but realized that she must have fallen asleep when she startled awake to the sound of the Floo coming to life in the other room.

"Hermione?" Severus called.

She quickly went out to greet him and was met with a raised eyebrow.

"Sorry," she apologized while smoothing out her clothes. "I must have fallen asleep." She eyed his usual black flowing robes with envy. He could not have had more than three hours of sleep, and yet he was immaculately dressed.

"A couple of cups of strong coffee helps," he supplied as if he knew what she was thinking.

She grimaced sympathetically. "Right."

"Are you ready to leave?" Severus asked, stepping closer to pluck a wooly out of her hair.

Hermione was momentarily speechless at the proximity. "Err, yes, I think so."

But he didn't move, simply staring at her with unreadable dark eyes. Gods, was she dreaming? Did she have more woolies?

Finally, he said, "Then follow me."

* * *

Hermione found her mum staring at the Black family tree inscribed on the drawing room wall.

"Mum?" she asked tentatively.

" _Toujours pur_ ," Jean Granger murmured thoughtfully. "Always pure. This is Harry's godfather's house?"

Hermione sighed and joined her mother's side to examine the mural. "Sirius was estranged from his family because he was opposed to their ideals."

"And this—Bellatrix, was it?—was related to him?"

Hermione modded hesitantly. "She was his cousin, yes."

Her mum's gaze turned to fix on her. "She's an absolute psychopath, Hermione, and if I could hide you away forever to avoid her, I would."

"Mum…" Hermione swallowed thickly.

Her mum ignored her. "But I know that Harry is your friend, and this is a world that I don't belong to or understand."

"Mum," she tried again, "we'll make sure you're protected this time. I'm so, so sorry." Her voice trembled, but she continued resolutely. "This is all my fault—I should have known that the Death Eaters might come after you."

Her mum smiled wryly and pulled her into a hug. "My sweet child, do you think Muggles don't have wars as well? I know that we are not the only family affected by such unspeakable acts. And if you must stay with your friends here to bring justice for us all, then I cannot—will not—stop you."

"But— _Dad_." Hermione buried her face into her mum's shoulder to hide her tears.

"Your father was brave until the very end," Jean said quietly and tightened their embrace. "Most of the night has become a blur," she admitted, "but I'll always remember his commitment to protecting me."

Hermione sniffled. "Ron said you can stay at the Burrow with his mum."

"Thank you, sweetheart, but no. I believe I'll live with your aunt for a while and—and start anew. Your father was always a softie, helping whoever he could and offering discounted dental care to those who couldn't afford it. He deserves a charity named in his honour to continue his acts of kindness."

Hermione was too overcome to answer, but her mum didn't seem to expect her to.

"Professor Snape has already agreed to help me relocate and place protections on the house," her mum continued.

"You spoke with him?" Hermione finally squeaked. She pulled back to find her mum smiling knowingly down at her.

"We had a good, long talk before he brought you back—he's a rather good confidant."

Had Severus _comforted_ her mum about last night?

"I must admit, I felt much calmer after his visit. _And_ —" her gaze sharpened "—he is the only reason I am allowing you to stay in the Wizarding World right now."

Hermione felt betrayed. "You wouldn't force me to leave!"

Her mum's stance softened. "No, of course not. But he is the only reason that I will be able to sleep at night, knowing that my daughter is in good hands."

"Er—"

"Quite the accomplished man, isn't he?"

"Yes, I suppose—"

"And protective, too. Rather like your father."

" _Mum_!" Hermione said, aghast.

"Oh, shush—let me finish. Without John anymore, I am so grateful that there is another man in your life who is willing to put your wellbeing before everything else." Her mum stopped to wipe some stray tears, and Hermione glanced away uncomfortably.

After a few moments of silence as Jean collected herself, she pulled Hermione into another hug.

"I hope he treats you as well as John doted on me."

* * *

The rest of the day passed in alternating spells of anguish at her dad's death and her mum's pain—which she tried valiantly to hide—and occasions of panic at the thought that her mum seemed to think that Hermione and Severus were romantically involved. By supper time, Hermione was so overwhelmed by her swirling emotions that she was utterly exhausted.

Her mum had been uncomfortable in a magical environment with strange people, she realized, and seemed relieved when Severus finished classes and returned to Grimmauld Place. He arrived in a towering fury of black robes, but his eyes were kind and his mouth soft.

"I'd like to go home to my world, please," Jean said quietly.

Hermione shuddered but said nothing. Her mother had been honest about her desire to return to her own world, and Hermione knew that the unfamiliar setting was detrimental to her emotional recovery.

It was during that conversation that Hermione came to terms with the divide in their lives. Her mum would always be her mum, but would never be quite comfortable around the magic that had killed her husband.

Hermione could never leave the Wizarding World as it was, so she reluctantly agreed with her mother's decision. Her mum, at least, would be safe in her aunt's house—as Muggles with non-magical children, there was no trace of her other relatives' locations in the Wizarding World. With the addition of Severus' and Dumbledore's powerful wards, she knew that they would be untouchable.

They had all agreed that, once the wards were laid down, it would too risky to return to the house again. Hermione had cried when she realized that she could not Apparate to her father's funeral in case the activity was tracked by Death Eaters, but she soon rallied herself and bid her mother a solemn farewell.

Knowing that she left a younger, more innocent facet of herself in the Muggle world, Hermione returned to Hogwarts with a heavy but determined air.

She would stay. And she would fight.

* * *

"I know it's a lot to take in and I know she doesn't blame me, but it seemed best considering the circumstances," Hermione finished explaining to the boys after she'd informed Ron that her mum wouldn't be staying at the Burrow. She shook off the itching sense of déjà vu as they gathered in her room again.

"And you're… okay with that?" Harry asked hesitantly.

Hermione shrugged, even as her chest clenched. The wound from her mother's departure was small but raw. "I would've maybe liked to spend more time with her, but we live in different worlds now. I see—or rather, saw—my parents twice a year. If she feels more comfortable away from magic, I can't blame her. Besides, I've got you guys."

Draco nodded supportively. "And Severus, too."

She glanced at him in shock. Surely he couldn't know about her crush too?

"He promised to help you three, didn't he?" the blond expanded on his statement impatiently. "He's even got all of you an invitation to the Manor for dinner. Did he not tell you?"

" _All_ of us?" Ron asked, his voice an octave higher than normal.

Draco huffed. "Yes, all of you! Did you forget that he is on your side?"

"Are you kidding?" said Ron, eyes wide. "I'm just impressed that a Weasley will be setting foot in Malfoy Manor for a social visit—I think that's the first time in 86 years. Snape's a bloody miracle worker!"


	19. XVIV Together

**A/N:** _I can't believe how long this story is :o I lost my mojo a bit stressing out about continuity issues because of the long breaks between writing chapters (SO sorry) but I've been reminded once again that it's really all just a fun way to let my creative juices flow, so here you go!_

 _It's a little short, but I feel like there's a lot happening so hopefully that makes up for it? Thank you all so much for sticking with me through this! It_ will _be done one day! :)_

* * *

Fire crackled in the air, and Severus leaned back in Lucius' opulent chair. He fingered his wine glass contemplatively but did not drink.

"Tell me again why you decided to invite three Gryffindors to Malfoy Manor?" he asked Lucius drolly.

The blond raised his eyebrows innocently.

"And one of them being a Weasley, no less."

"Why, Severus, any friend of Draco's is a friend of mine." Lucius sipped at his own drink appreciatively. "Don't let that lovely wine go to waste," he added.

"You don't worry that the Dark Lord may find out?" Severus asked, more seriously this time.

Lucius leaned forward in his seat across from Severus. "It is only us and Dumbledore that know. How would he find out? Besides, he believes that Draco is merely acting to get closer to Potter."

Severus frowned but nodded. It was still a risk—a risk that he did not understand why Lucius would take.

"Your concern is touching," Lucius drawled as he settled more comfortably in his office armchair. "However, I believe we have more pressing matters to discuss, hm? How is the Granger girl faring?"

A grimace crossed Severus' face. "Impressively well, actually." After the first day, anyway.

"What do you propose we do now?"

That was the real question, wasn't it? "The Headmaster informed me that it was only her house that was targeted—he wants me to find out why."

"It wasn't a normal raid, then," Lucius stated, lips pursed.

"No, I daresay it wasn't," Severus agreed quietly. "It shouldn't be difficult to unveil Bellatrix's reasons, though—I imagine she would be quite eager to gloat."

"If anyone sees her again." Lucius' grey eyes darkened ominously.

"There still has been no word on her whereabouts?"

The blond shook his head.

That was concerning… Severus stared broodingly at his wine. The attack on Hermione's home was absolutely intentional. "I'll have to tell Dumbledore about this. Something isn't right."

Lucius only gazed at him sympathetically. "For now, I believe it's time for dinner."

* * *

As everyone settled at the Malfoys' elegantly laid dining table, Severus finally allowed himself a sip of his wine when he realized that Draco was sitting next to Harry with a slightly defiant expression. Merlin, had anyone informed the Malfoys of their son's new relationship? Taking a large gulp of alcohol, he glanced covertly between Draco and Lucius.

"Please," Narcissa said warmly, "everyone enjoy."

Still eyeing Lucius suspiciously out of the corner of his eye, Severus slowly reached for the potatoes.

"Can I get you any?" he asked Hermione next to him.

"Yes, thank you," she said, and he was satisfied to note the healthy flush in her face; she appeared to be adjusting fairly well.

Dinner passed largely without incident, and Severus was pleasantly surprised at how well everyone was getting along. Of course, as the house elves presented a stunning three-tiered cake for dessert, Severus's satisfaction suddenly turned to utter bewilderment.

"Top or bottom, Draco?" Lucius asked, waving a spoon in the air.

" _What_?" Draco spluttered. The younger Malfoy gaped at his father.

Next to Severus, Harry was also performing a fine impression of a fish.

Lucius sighed theatrically. "The cake, lad. Top or bottom layer?"

"Oh." Draco cleared his throat. "Ah, bottom, please."

"Yes," Lucius murmured, "you always did prefer the creamier parts."

Narcissa looked scandalized, while Hermione's lips were twitching as she desperately tried to keep a straight face. Ron seemed like he was ready to combust. What the devil was going on? Severus was sure that his own expression clearly portrayed his shock.

"The pieces with more icing," Lucius clarified.

"...I suppose I do," said Draco slowly.

This time Severus cleared his throat. "Yes, well, lovely as that is, I'd rather like a piece myself."

"Oh, no, that simply won't do." Lucius shakes his head. "You see, Draco only shares when he takes the top."

 _Thunk_.

Harry had fainted right out of his chair. Sighing loudly, Severus turned to order Draco to attend to his partner, only for him to realize that Draco had also passed out onto the floor.

Severus groaned. "For fuck's sake, Lucius."

His friend only looked at him innocently. "What did I say?"

* * *

Severus floo'd back to his rooms with Hermione and Ron, their two unconscious classmates towed along with them.

"Take these two back to their rooms," Severus ordered, pinching the bridge of his nose. "And tell them that Lucius shows his affection by being an utter wanker."

Ron was so shell-shocked that he levitated his two friends and left without Hermione. She rolled her eyes but didn't bother chasing after him.

"That was… interesting," she said, brown eyes still twinkling with mirth.

"He's insufferable," Severus muttered, taking a seat.

Her smile didn't waver. "I think he was just trying to lighten the mood. Merlin knows we need it."

"Did it work?"

"I quite enjoyed Draco's face," she answered as she sat down opposite him.

Severus rolled his eyes but did not bemoan his friend's behavior any further. Hermione was right—he'd done it to lower the tension, albeit at his son's expense. If it helped Hermione recover from her recent ordeal, though, Severus wouldn't complain.

"You ought to get some sleep," he murmured after some time spent in companionable silence.

Hermione nodded and stood reluctantly. "I just—wanted to thank you again."

"Whatever for?"

"For, well, everything." She took a deep breath. "I've come to value your advice and your company, and everything you do in between."

Severus swallowed at her earnest expression. "Think nothing of it."

Hermione smiled and headed toward the Floo.

* * *

While Lucius' antics had helped lighten the mood for the first few days after Hermione returned to class, Severus was beginning to suspect that she was not coping as well as he'd hoped. She was in his rooms almost constantly, ignoring his presence and practicing countercurse after countercurse on the mannequin and progressing on to more gruesome spells each time.

Finally, a week later, Severus decided to confront her when she overexerted herself to the point that she was almost delirious.

"Hermione," he said softly but sternly. "This behavior needs to stop."

"What?" she asked, still focusing intently on performing the countercurse.

He steadfastly ignored the skin peeling off the mannequin and took her arm gently. "Come here."

She startled at his touch. "Severus?"

"How are you doing, Hermione—really."

She grimaced, her hair frazzled and eyes sunken. How had he not noticed how pale her skin was?

"I'll get some tea, shall I?" He didn't wait for her to answer as he guided her to the couch, summoning a house elf and pouring her a cup before seating himself next to her.

Acting almost mechanically, Hermione took the offered cup. "Thanks."

Her eyes were unfocused and distant; Severus bit back a sigh. "Do you know what I did the first time the Dark Lord ordered me to kill a child?"

That got her attention. "What?"

He smiled wryly. "I spent the next week drunk out of my mind until Dumbledore poured out all my liquor and forbade the house elves from having any contact with me."

"And then?" she asked timidly, nothing like the determined young woman he knew before.

"Then I realized that the world—and the Dark Lord—were not going to wait for me to pull my head out of my self-pitying arse." The memory of that boy, his blue eyes wide and still naively trusting, was still vivid in his mind, but the pain had dulled and left behind an unyielding determination to end the Dark Lord's reign.

Hermione was silent for a while, the soothing circles she was rubbing against the back of his hand the only sign that she was even listening.

"My parents and I had been growing apart anyway," she finally said quietly. "I only ever saw them during Christmas or over the summer, and sometimes not even then. I don't know how to explain it—I feel terrible about it all, obviously, but it's almost like I'm more upset about losing the parents that I remember from my childhood, rather than who they are—were—today."

Severus nodded. "The growing apart is a common occurrence among Muggleborns. It is difficult to balance two different worlds."

"But they were still good people." She blinked rapidly, eyes shining with tears that threatened to fall. "And I just feel like if I had learned more, practiced more, I could've helped heal them."

His chest tightened at the break in her voice. "There was nothing you could do, Hermione.

"I _know_ , but it doesn't make it hurt any less," she whispered. "If I had been better—"

"No," he interrupted. "Living in regret is how the Dark Lord wins."

Hermione shuddered but didn't argue. "It's just… strange. More like losing a childhood friend than like losing my parents."

Severus pulled his hand from her grasp to twist his body towards her. "It will hurt less with time."

"I know," she murmured, a small smile playing at her lips. "I think now it already does."

He eyed her a little warily. "I thought so too until you started acting like a zombie for the past week."

She grinned at that, and he couldn't help the answering tug of his mouth.

"You make it better," she said with such sincerity that Severus almost wanted to weep; he didn't think he'd ever had someone look at him so appreciatively for simply who he was.

Clearing his throat, he said, "I'm glad."


	20. XX Progress

**A/N:** _Another chapter already? Where did this come from? :O Thank you all for reading! :D_

* * *

The next few weeks passed quickly for Hermione, and she often found herself marvelling at how the pain of her father's passing had dissipated, leaving behind only a fond warmness.

Time truly was a kind mistress.

But as her own suffering diminished, it seemed to only be shouldered onto countless other Muggleborn students. Hermione was suddenly the confidant of several first year Gryffindors who had lost one or both parents to Death Eater attacks and, while she would never turn away a grieving child at her door, she could feel the strain settling within her thoughts.

One night, sitting in Severus' rooms after more practice with the mannequin, she couldn't help but voice her concerns.

"I try to comfort them as best I can," she said, fingering her teacup anxiously, "but I'm afraid I'm not very good at dealing with emotional children."

"Join the club," he deadpanned as he settled down next her on the couch.

"Severus." She threw him a withering glare. What kind of help was that?

He sighed then and leaned back against the cushions. "Simply knowing that they can come to you if needed will certainly benefit them greatly. Remember, too, that Minerva is their Head of House; encourage them to speak with her if you are feeling overwhelmed."

"I have, but I think they prefer spending time with someone more… relatable."

Severus was silent for a time. Hermione stayed quiet, knowing that the furrow of his brow meant that he was contemplating something.

Finally, he said, "There is a second year Slytherin boy who also lost his parents recently."

Hermione raised her eyebrows. "I hadn't heard. Was it mentioned in the Daily Prophet?"

"It was. I believe it was the same day that your little Gryffindors' families were attacked as well."

"...Oh." She bit her lip, wondering how she had missed that information.

"Don't blame yourself—you had other concerns at the time. The child is, after all, in _my_ House. However, as you can probably imagine, I am unable to offer the same support that you can to students in your house." He grimaced slightly. "Particularly if the Dark Lord is going to be this active."

"What can I do to help?" she asked, eager to make amends for her previous ignorance of the boy's plight.

"I'm not sure if he'd be very willing to talk to you," Severus replied with an apologetic look. "I do think, though, that he might be more open to confiding in students closer to his age."

"You mean my Gryffindors?"

He nodded. "With any luck, having someone else to focus on will hasten their healing process as well."

She raised her eyebrows again, glancing at him curiously. "You've been thinking about this for a while."

He shrugged and sipped at his tea.

"Severus," she prodded.

"I thought it would be advantageous for them to learn to sort out their problems amongst themselves," he muttered.

Hermione couldn't help but grin. "Yes, I suppose it has nothing to do with the fact that I'll also be getting more peace and quiet if they do."

"You're much more agreeable when you get adequate amounts of sleep," he said in a good imitation of Lucius's haughty tone.

This time she managed to hold back a snort. He refused to meet her eyes, and she smiled fondly. He'd been _worried_ about her.

"Thank you," she said softly, warmth spreading through her body. Before she could second guess herself, she quickly tucked her arm in his and leaned into his side.

A quiet sound of surprise escaped him. "Hermione?"

She only pressed herself closer and waited for him to relax.

"Apparently you're more sleep-deprived than I thought," he grumbled under his breath.

She laughed. "You're sweet when you pretend not to care."

A faint blush painted his skin and, Gods help her, she'd never wanted to kiss someone so badly in her life. Severus glanced down at her, her head tucked in his armpit.

"You're an absolute menace," he sighed but settled himself more comfortably against her.

Hermione smiled to herself, utterly content to sit there forever with the soft crackling of the fireplace warming the room.

After some time, though, Severus shifted away.

"It's late—you ought to go back to your rooms," he murmured.

She made a face but nodded. "I suppose so."

But his expression was so relaxed and his eyes warm; she found herself unable to look away.

Severus cleared his throat, the warmth fading. "I'll have to cancel our meeting tomorrow."

Her heart dropped into her stomach. Had he not enjoyed their time together? Hermione did her best to maintain a neutral expression.

She clearly failed miserably as he hastened to explain, "Unfortunately, I've been tasked by Dumbledore to determine what has happened to Bellatrix—her whereabouts are still unknown."

Well, at least he wasn't purposely avoiding her. "And you have to leave tomorrow?"

"The Malfoys are hosting a dinner to celebrate the—success—of recent raids," he said, the distaste clear in his voice.

Hermione frowned. "I thought they were on our side?"

He smiled reassuringly. "Oh, they are. I spoke with Lucius—we're hoping that Bella will either be present herself, or that we'll gain some information from… inebriated Death Eaters," he finished delicately.

"That sounds awful," she said blandly, suppressing a shiver at the mention of Bellatrix Lestrange.

Severus exhaled loudly. "I'm quite certain it will be."

"Will Vol—the Dark Lord—be there?"

"Not this time," he answered.

"Good."

He raised an eyebrow questioningly at the vehemence in her voice.

"He can't hurt you then," she elaborated, daring to tuck in to his side again.

Severus rolled his eyes, although the slight twitch of his lips contradicted the action. "For the love of Merlin, return to your rooms."

Hermione grinned cheekily and contemplated using this rare burst of confidence to sneak a quick kiss, but decided not to press her luck. She didn't want to ruin such a good night.

Standing up and stretching, she asked, "You'll only be gone the one night?"

Severus didn't answer immediately, causing her to glance at him curiously at his unfocused gaze. He stood abruptly, blinking away the distant look in his eyes. "If all goes as planned, yes," he said, guiding her to the Floo. "I'll have Dumbledore inform you if something comes up."

"Alright," Hermione agreed grudgingly; she'd much rather have him back after one day. "Be safe."

Severus snorted. "While I acknowledge that Lucius can be a tad overzealous if the integrity of his curtains is threatened, I imagine that we should be rather safe at a dinner party."

She frowned at him. "I'm serious. If Bellatrix is there…."

His eyes softened as he handed her the bowl of Floo powder. "Do not worry yourself."

* * *

"A party at the Manor and I wasn't even invited," Draco sighed dramatically from his sprawled position on Hermione's carpeted floor the next night.

"After what happened the last time we had dinner with your parents, I can't imagine why you would _want_ be invited," Hermione said wryly, doing her best not to think of what the Death Eaters would be doing at the Manor now.

Harry grimaced. "Don't remind me."

"Hey, look on the bright side—it could've gone worse," Ron interjected cheerfully.

" _Could it_?" Harry buried his head in his hands.

Hermione snorted and finished the last word in her Charms essay with a flourish of her quill.

"Anyway," Draco said, sounding very much like he would rather not think about their last dinner at Malfoy Manor, "I received a letter from my father earlier; apparently he needs Severus to brew some potions for him tomorrow, so your next healing meeting will have to wait."

She nodded. "Does Dumbledore know?"

"I'd say so," Draco replied. "I suppose they thought it would be easier for me to tell you than Dumbledore. Oh, and Severus says that it would be appreciated if you could stock and prepare ingredients for the Wolfsbane Potion."

"Tonight?" she asked in surprise. The full moon was not for another two weeks—it seemed early to begin brewing, but perhaps Severus was planning ahead for the busy week before Christmas holidays.

Draco only shrugged. "Severus will likely be back the day after tomorrow. As long as you do it before he returns, I doubt he much cares _when_ you do it."

"Right," Hermione muttered, rolling up her essay and tucking it in her bag.

"How're your lessons with Snape going?" Harry asked, having apparently recovered from his previous flashback.

"Good," she replied. "I feel as though I've learned a lot, and he's certainly thorough about when and how to use each countercurse. But I can't help but worry that I won't know enough to save someone," she admitted quietly.

"Well, you'd be more help than any of us," Ron said, and frowned at his words.

A similar expression was mirrored on Harry's face as he said, "Ron's right. We've picked up a lot from Healing class, but countercurses like the ones you're learning aren't a part of the curriculum. Maybe you ought to teach us, too?"

"It's a good idea," Hermione agreed slowly, "but I don't know if I'd be able to properly explain it all to you. And I don't think Severus has the time to teach all three of you."

"That's alright," Draco said confidently. "After all, the Death Eaters aren't going to be _that_ creative with their attacks—most have one or two favorite curses, and only a couple have even heard of the ones Severus knows, let alone know how to cast them."

"So teach us the main ones," Harry said, catching on. "Whatever ones seem most important."

Hermione nodded, her mind already shifting through and categorizing her arsenal of countercurses. "Yes, I can do that… I'll need to consult with Severus as well—he knows the most about what the Death Eaters might use," she murmured.

"That's settled, then." Ron gave a satisfied jerk of his nod. "Why don't we meet in the Room of Requirement sometime Saturday to practice?"

"Yes, yes, sounds good," she mumbled, waving her hand absentmindedly in his direction. "First I'll find which curses they tend to use the most, then rank them by lethality. Or perhaps I should give you an easy countercurse to start off with…" She glanced up to see the boys watching her in amusement. "What are you three looking at? I'm busy—go finish your essays in the library."

Draco snorted. "Yes, mother."


End file.
